


Reverse Trajectory

by roebling



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: (?), (a lot of feelings), Canon Compliant, Disappointment, Feelings, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being discharged from the army, Youngjae finds the last person he expects crashing in his apartment. He'd be mad, but maybe even Junhong's company is better than being alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverse Trajectory

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time in the writing! This story owes an enormous debt to [almostblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/almostblue), [michelleisat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/michelleisat/) and most especially [suitofarmour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suitofarmour) for their encouragement, assistance, feedback, and love ♥♥♥ All mistakes and errors are my own and if you notice any I'd be glad if you point them out - in a non patronizing way :)
> 
> The future depicted in this story is speculative - I truly hope for all of the boys' sake it's not how things really are. I love them all and I hope that comes through in this, where there are no real bad guys and only flawed people making lots of mistakes.

There is no one waiting for Youngjae. 

He isn’t expecting anyone. The only person who might come is his mother, and he asked her to stay home. It's a long trip.

He salutes his officers and signs some paperwork, and just like that it's over. He's got a bus ticket to Incheon and a set of civilian clothes. He's free to go. 

Ending things has never been hard for Youngjae, but it's gotten even easier as he's gotten older.

His sits in the last seat on the bus and lets his head rest against the window. There's a smear of oil from where some other tired head rested against the same window. It should be disgusting, but it's comforting instead. It's not like touching another person, of course, but it's the closest he's come in a long time. 

Beyond the dirty window the fields are green like the green tea ice cream he used to like as a kid. It's April. He stares at the green fields and the blue sky and the dirty country roads but the sun is hot through the bus windows and after staring for a while without thinking very much he falls asleep. 

It's night when he wakes up. Bright streets slide by, full of teenagers roaming in groups and couples arm in arm. It's been a long time since he's had anything to drink, but he feels drunk, disoriented by the long trip and the LED screens and traffic lights. He's lightheaded and hungry and needs to piss by the time the bus pulls into the depot. The bathroom is clean enough but the paper towels overflow the trash can and litter the floor. 

Tired. Bone weary. Head spinning in the back of a cab that drives through streets that two years have rendered unfamiliar. The credit card machine reader is a new model that doesn't want to read Youngjae's card. He only has big bills in his wallet. He shoves one at the man and doesn't wait for change. 

There is a market on the corner and the old man who runs it is sitting behind the counter like he's never moved. 

"Hello, young man," he says. 

"Hello," Youngjae says. 

"You were gone for a long time." 

Youngjae nods. "I'm back now, though." 

"Good," he says. "I think your friend's been missing you." 

Friend? Nobody Youngjae could call a friend has ever been to this convenience store with him. Well, the old man has always been a little strange, but the kimbap he sells is first rate. 

He buys three kimbap, a packet of cookies, and a bottle of juice, and tells the old man he'll see him tomorrow. 

Youngjae’s street is quiet and residential. The apartment buildings are large and set back from the curb, with little patches of lawn and a few trees in front. There's a bar on the main road, a few blocks over, but otherwise there's no nightlife, nothing of note. 

Youngjae likes that. When he first decided to buy an apartment, Himchan tried to convince him to buy a fancy condo in Itaewon. That hadn’t been what he’d wanted at all. Even then it seemed like the sun was setting, the stars were dimming … his time in the spotlight was coming to a close. He resolved he wouldn’t cling to fame. He bought an apartment in a quiet suburb, and he’s been fine with it, so far. 

His building is almost the same as he remembers. They’ve power washed the facade and the stone is a bit brighter. There are new flowers in the planters. Some of the names on the mailboxes have changed. Otherwise, the halls are still cool and dim and clean. The elevator grumbles as he rides up to the fourth floor. He’s hungry. It was smart to pick up food. He was careful to clean everything out of the apartment before he left. Of course, after two years, it must have gotten a little musty. It was a good idea to call his brother and ask him to arrange for a cleaning service before he got out. 

The television is loud in the apartment at the other end of the hall. Youngjae rubs his eyes. His door is anonymous and unadorned – just a generic ‘418’ above the peep hole. He presses the code on his keypad and waits. It’s not like he’s forgotten it, but it’s been a long time. 

He hasn’t forgotten. The keypad beeps and the lock turns over. 

The light is on in the tiny foyer. He’s going to have to tell his brother the cleaning service left it on. It’s not a big deal but still they should call to let them know. If someone were gone for a longer time it could be a real problem.

But the television is on too. 

“Hello?” 

Youngjae drops his duffel on the floor and the groceries on the counter. There’s nothing much in the kitchen – but there’s garbage in the can. A few packets of instant ramen. Napkins. A candy bar wrapper. 

“Hello?” 

He opens the drawer behind the sink and grabs one of the cheap knives that came in a set his mother bought him when he moved in. Then he thinks better and picks up the rolling pin instead: it has more heft.

His heart is racing. Maybe it’s just his brother? But his hyung has a wife and two kids and a nice apartment in Seoul. There’s no reason he’d be here … no good reason anyway. 

He swallows and takes the two steps down the short hall to the living room. Someone is asleep on the couch, with a blanket drawn over them and the hood of their sweatshirt pulled up. 

“Hello?” 

No answer. 

Quietly, he walks over to the couch. The room is the same – exactly the same, except for a few small things that aren’t. A jacket on the chair. Movies that aren’t his stacked by the DVD player. A phone much newer than any he’s ever owned plugged in and charging by the wall. 

His hand is shaking. There’s a bottle of soju in a paper bag by the leg of the couch. It’s empty. He can hear the stranger breathing, loud and a little wheezy. He’s supposed to be the smart one. Probably he should get the hell out of here and call the cops. But then the person the couch shifts, stretching long legs, long arms, yawning a big yawn. The blanket falls to the floor. The intruder sits up. 

“Oh,” Junhong says. “Hyung. Hi.” Then he smiles, as guileless and sweet as when he was sixteen. “Welcome back.” 

*****

Junhong, in the flesh.

He can't remember properly how long it's been. Four years? Five? His hair is black streaked with dark purple, but the purple is fading. His fringe falls in his eyes. He's thinner than Youngjae remembers and his smile lines are more deeply etched. He needs to shave. 

"What are you doing here?"

That's all he can think to say. He’s never even told Junhong the address.

Junhong blinks. He never quite grew into his features – his baby face is incongruous. He's got to be what? Twenty eight? Twenty nine already?

"Himchan told me your address." He frowns. "I'm really sorry, hyung. I thought I'd be gone before you got here ... I really needed a place to stay."

Outside the garbage truck is rolling past. Youngjae can still hear the television in the apartment down the hall. He wonders if they are new tenants; he doesn't remember it being this noisy before. He licks his lips. He's not sure if what's he's feeling is anger or shock or some combination of both.

"What are you doing here?" He can't think of anything else to ask, because Junhong? In his living room? It doesn't make any sense. Himchan didn't have the combination for the keypad. "How did you get in?"

Junhong shrugs. "Zero - One - Two - Six." He smiles. "That was my combination too, for a long time." A long exhale. "Before the fans figured it out."

"Oh," Youngjae says. He feels like he's still on the bus, the earth rolling and shaking underneath his feet. He sits down heavily in the armchair.

Junhong stands up. He's so tall – he kept growing and growing until they wondered if he'd ever stop. Youngjae's not short, exactly, but around Junhong he always felt short.

"I'm sorry, hyung," he says. "I can go if you want me to."

Youngjae blinks. He's tired and hungry and he barely remembers what it’s like to have to be obligated to deal with these things on his own. For a moment he misses his bland army ration.The entire afternoon and long night and next day and all the days after stretch out ahead of him, formless. Eventually, he'll go back and join his brother at the business, he guesses. Eventually. For now, there's nothing.

Junhong is nearly the last person Youngjae wants to see, but his company suddenly seems far preferable to being left alone.

"No," Youngjae says quickly. "I'm sorry, Junhong. I'm just ... it was a long trip."

Junhong nods, sympathetic. "Okay," he says, sitting back down. He frowns in the funny focused way he's always had, with his brows knit and his mouth stretched wide. "How are you? You look well."

Youngjae smooths his too-short hair down self-consciously. "I'm fine. It was fine." He enlisted, and that was his whole life for two years. Now it's already starting to fade.

"Good," Junhong says. He glances over quickly to where his phone is charging; the light is blinking. He's a busy person. Youngjae can only imagine how many messages he has. "Are you hungry, hyung? There's not much here but the Chinese place down the street delivers really quickly and the food is good."

"I know," Youngjae says. "This is my apartment."

Junhong's face falls. Youngjae feels like an ass. "I'm sorry, Junhong," he says, again. Junhong put up with a lot from them, over the years. Youngjae, after a certain point, always made sure to apologize. "Yes, that sounds good. Chinese food."

They order jjajangmyeon. It used to be a forbidden treat. Maybe it still is for Junhong. Youngjae gets up and goes to the bathroom. Unfamiliar toiletries sit on the counter. Unfamiliar shampoo and soap in the shower. He's not sure how long Junhong's been here, but he seems like he's settled in.

He washes his face. He needs to shave too, but all of his things are still packed. He looks old, and plain. There are lines at the corners of his eyes and his skin is dull. He doesn't take care of it any more. There's no reason. Junhong still has the celebrity gloss, of course. Youngjae looks like a regular person.

He stands there staring, hands on the cold edge of the sink, until he hears sound of the door. Junhong has already paid by the time he comes out.

"Let me give you money," he says, reaching for his wallet. All it contains is one credit card, expired, and five uncirculated 100,000 won notes. He needs to go to the bank.

"Hyung, no," Junhong says. "Please let me pay." The familiar pleading note is in his voice; maknae used to getting what he wants.

Well. He did come and crash in Youngjae's apartment, and a cheap meal isn't going to break the bank for a superstar. Youngjae doesn't push the issue. 

They eat in the living room, big bowls of steaming noodles on their knees, onions and pickled radish on the coffee table. It reminds Youngjae of their first dorm, where there was never enough time or energy for anything more than take out. He remembers eating pizza late at night after coming back recording from a variety show. Manager Kang was on the phone with his girlfriend in his room. They'd ordered a ton of food, because that was before any of them were canny enough to care much about things like diets. They'd all been happy – that first year was the happiest and most exhausting of Youngjae's life – but nobody had been as happy as Junhong. Sometimes he got cowed and went quiet, and they often let him sink quietly into his own head, but other times he was bright and full of laughter, willing to tease everyone and wheedle Himchan into doing him little favors, like getting him a drink from the kitchen. Himchan complained, but nobody really minded doing things to make Junhong happy.

They reach for a slice of radish at the same time. The smooth back of Junhong's hand brushes Youngjae's. He pulls away.

"Sorry," Youngjae says.

Junhong stares at him unhappily. "Sorry, too," he says.

It's been a long time since Youngjae thought about that dorm. It's been a long time since he's thought about those early, happy days. He breathes out and ignores the way his chest has gone tight. Junhong keeps glancing at his phone. On the television, a girl group is dancing athletically in belly shirts and pink vinyl tap shorts. He doesn't know them – all the groups from his day are retired or have moved on. And while he was serving ... the guys liked to talk about girl groups, but Youngjae made it pretty clear he had no interest. He hadn't been looking to make friends, anyway.

"I'm glad you're back, hyung," Junhong says, staring at the television. "I ... I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks," Youngjae says. "It goes really quickly. Jongup’ll be getting out before you know it." Enlistment is a safe topic. Neutral. They all have to do it, sooner or later. Daehyun got discharged a year ago. Jongup enlisted not long after. Yongguk and Himchan went in together, ages ago now it seems like. Junhong's turn is coming soon. "You'll be surprised at how quickly it goes. Of course, they're probably going to keep you in Seoul. Has the company talked about it with you yet?"

Junhong blinks. "Well," he says. "Um."

"It's okay," Youngjae says, around a mouthful of noodles. He wants to keep talking about this because he has no idea what else they can talk about. Junhong is Junhong, but he’s also Zelo. He’s probably the most popular male idol in Korea. What do you talk about with someone like that? "It's probably early still, right? You're not going until your birthday?"

"Actually," Junhong says, and then he stops, and puts his bowl and his chopsticks down. He frowns. "Don't you want to know what I'm doing here, hyung?"

Youngjae ... well, he hasn't thought about it. It's weird, sure; but everything is weird right now and he remembers well enough what it felt like to just want to go anywhere that wasn't where his schedule said he had to be. But yes, it is strange.

"I told them," Junhong says.

"The company? You told the company that ... about you?"

Junhong shakes his head. "No," he says. "I told everyone."

Youngjae's heart clenches weird and tight. "What?"

Junhong shrugs, hunching his shoulders. "I didn't want to lie any more," he says, in a small voice. "I didn't want to pretend."

Youngjae's throat is dry. He takes a sip of water. "Okay," he says. He remembers how long it took Junhong to tell _them_ – his brothers, or so it seemed at the time. He remembers how small and sad and nervous he'd looked, sitting at the end of the table while they all stared. He remembers how Himchan had gone right away and hugged Junhong and said it didn't matter. Youngjae remembers how his heart had done the same thing then that it’s doing now, clenching tight, and he remembers wishing he'd been the one to go hug Junhong first.

But ... "So you told like, the whole company? Your parents? Your friends?"

Junhong shakes his head again. His lips are pressed together. "I ... I was on a show. And one of the other guests kept teasing me about – there were these rumors I was dating Kim Dakyung, but she’s really just a friend – and I usually just laugh? Because I remember how Himchan hyung always used to laugh when people asked him stupid questions and then they would just let it go? I wish I were as good as he was at interviews. But I was just so sick of it. So when the hosts asked me who my idea girl was I said that I didn't have one but that if they wanted I'd be glad to tell them about my ideal man."

A moment passes. "Wow." Youngjae takes another sip of water. "Wow. Junhong ... What did the company say?"

Junhong's shoulders hunch smaller and more miserable. "They weren't happy. It was ... I mean, the articles were up before the show was even over."

"Junhong," Youngjae says again.

Junhong looks up, big eyes and unhappy mouth.

"I'm really proud of you," Youngjae says, and he means it. "That was incredibly brave."

And just like that some of the awful misery sloughs off Junhong's face. "Thank you .. Hyung, thank you." He exhales and flops back against the couch. "Anyway, the company building was mobbed and the address of my apartment was an open secret. They told me to go somewhere nobody could find me ... I didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't mind," Youngjae says, ignoring the big scary ache in his chest. "Junhong, I don't mind at all. You can stay here for as long as you need."

Junhong closes his eyes. "Thank you, hyung," he says. "I knew you wouldn't mind."

A phone rings – it's not Youngjae's and it's not the phone that's plugged into the wall. Junhong reaches for his pocket. He glances down.

"Sorry," he says, "I need to get this. It's my manager." He looks apologetic as he stands up. He grabs a notebook that Youngjae hadn't noticed from the side table, goes into Youngjae's bedroom, and shuts the door.

Youngjae picks at his food for a few more minutes. The hunger he felt on the bus is gone. On the television a boy group is performing; they look too young, but he's not sure if they are younger or if he's just gotten older. It feels like a long time ago, the last time he did that. A different person, a different life – he's not much in the habit of thinking about those old memories, except ... Junhong.

When fifteen minutes have passed he picks up his bowl and Junhong's and takes them into the kitchen. He wraps the leftovers and puts them into the fridge. There are a few plates in the sink. He turns on the water and lets it run hot. The sun is setting and the fluorescent streetlights shine orange on the tiled backsplash behind the sink. That's one of the things that convinced Youngjae that this was the apartment he should buy. He viewed the apartment in the afternoon. The sun shone through the windows and the white tiles looked bright and cheerful. It reminded him of something – he's not sure what. Some old memory or a scene from a drama or maybe nothing at all.

It seems dumb now. He's not sure what he was thinking. Romantic scenes of coming up behind someone and slipping his arms around their waist while they washed up? A kiss on the cheek? That's laughable. But they are easy to keep clean. That's a plus.

He finishes washing up and Junhong is still in the bedroom. The door is still shut but he can see the light seep out from under the edge. He gets his phone out of his bag. He has a message from his mother, but the idea of talking to her is overwhelming. He'll go and see everyone tomorrow. He texts just to let her know that he's gotten in safely and that he loves her.

Then he sits on the couch, feeling uneasy. This is his apartment, but it doesn't feel like his right now. Junhong's stuff is everywhere. He's not a messy person, but he's made himself comfortable. Youngjae's been gone long enough that he feels like the visitor, or like he's at some very comfortable hotel. 

The music show is over. An entertainment talk show is on now. The hosts are familiar but the guests are new faces. They talk mostly about the current very popular drama, which one of the guests is starring in. After that there's a segment about entertainment news. They lead with a story about an actress who has been married for three years and kept it hidden until a clever journalist found her out. It's awful. Youngjae hated that kind of thing worst – not that he was ever worthy of any journalist's particular attention.

After the news segment they have different guests – older and more academic in appearance – for a round table discussion about ... who else? Junhong. Zelo is a beloved idol, talented and humble and known to do charitable acts without drawing any attention to himself. He's been successful domestically and overseas, and has never been in a scandal. If his music isn't universally popular, he's at least widely respected for his good attitude and hard work.

" – his honesty is to be commended," says one of the guests. "It's a shocking thing but it's not 2012 any more. We as a nation have come a long way but we have further to come and accepting this brave young man is a first step."

"But his fans," says another guest. "How can his fans, who have devoted so much time and energy and love, stay with him after a revelation like this? Isn't it too shocking? Wouldn't it have been better for him to keep it private and reveal it later?"

"That's the same kind of logic that made it so that less than ten years ago, it was a shocking scandal if a star was revealed to be dating at all," the first guest retorts. "Now nobody blinks an eye at that."

"Yes," says the second. "But dating is one thing. This is ..."

"Hey," Junhong says.

Youngjae changes the channel quickly.

Junhong sits down at the far end of the couch again. "You can keep watching if you want. My manager sends me summaries of all this stuff anyway. I even read some of them."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "No, that's fine\\. Is everything okay?"

Junhong shrugs. "I guess." Then, "Not really. The company is really mad at me. They said that if I really wanted to do it – if I really felt I had to, they keep saying – I should have told them so they could come up with a plan."

Youngjae frowns. "Oh," he says. He tries to remember when things like that – articles and bad photos and slips of the tongue – felt life-or-death urgent. "That's ... what kind of plan would they have come up with?"

Junhong shrugs again. "A plan to talk me out of it, I guess."

"Ah," he says. "Do you wish they had?"

"It's too late to worry about that now." He scrubs his hand over his face. "My manager says they're going to come up with a plan. He says to wait, and they're going to come up with a plan soon."

Youngjae nods. On the television a pretty anchorwoman talks about unrest somewhere far away. There's always rumblings, quieter and then louder. That's why he didn't extend his enlistment, even though he thought about it. At the heart of it he's a bigger coward than Daehyun ever was.

Junhong is looking at him. Oh ... right.

"Well," Youngjae says. "You can stay here until you figure things out." It's supposed to sound kind, but it just sounds empty.

Junhong doesn't seem to notice. "Thanks, hyung," he says. He stands up. "I'm going to take a shower."

It doesn't seem odd that he doesn't ask permission.

Youngjae dozes off. He wakes up when Junhong comes out of the bathroom, bare chested and flush. At some point – Youngjae never knew exactly when – his gangly teenage slimness gave way to a ripe lean maturity. It's not surprising, then, but still – shoulders, biceps, abs ...

Youngjae stares at the floor until he goes into the bedroom to change.

He comes out with his hair uncombed and his shirt on – thank god – and sits back down at the other end of the couch like it's his assigned seat. Whatever he's filled up his empty days doing, Youngjae's thrown everything out of alignment. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's not late, but Youngjae is suddenly exhausted.

"I'm gonna ... I'm going to go to bed."

Junhong's eyes go wide. "Um. I was ... let me change your sheets."

Oh. Well, the couch isn't a pull out and Junhong is pretty tall. Of course he slept in the bed. 

"It's fine," Youngjae says. "You'll .. will you be okay out here?"

Junhong nods.

"You know where the blankets are?"

He nods again.

"Okay then," Youngjae says. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hyung."

Youngjae goes into the bedroom. Without thinking he takes off his jeans and his shirt. The bed is already unmade, pillows rumpled and blankets tossed, littered with books and bits of paper and everything else. Junhong hasn't lost the nesting habit. He brushes the debris to the foot of the bed. The mattress feels too soft. The pillows smell strange. The windows rattle when a truck drives past.  
In the other room, Junhong's phone rings. For a long time (or it seems that way) Youngjae lies on his back listening to Junhong's muffled voice, waiting tense and uneasy during each silence. Eventually Junhong is quiet for good and Youngjae can only hear the soft music of the television, and then even that is gone and the light under the door disappears and everything is quiet and still. He lies there after that for a while, watching the light through the window hit the ceiling, and then he falls asleep.

*****

" ... find a suitable after school program, of course."

Youngjae nods. "Of course," he says, feeling hot and tired and a little faint.

His sister-in-law – Shiuen – smiles happily. Kayoung, her daughter, is four. She sits at her mother's feet playing with a stuffed bunny toy. Youngjae picked it out on his way over, something small to make up for two years' worth of missed holidays. 

Youngjae's mother smiles. "Youngjae and his brother were so smart," she says. "I'm sure Kayoung-ah will do well."

Shieun nods. "Of course she will. I've taught her the alphabet already and I'm hopeful she'll be able to read before she starts kindergarten."

Kayoung looks up, big bright eyes and floppy bangs. She's a beautiful child, and Youngjae isn't just saying that because she’s his niece. She tugs on her mother's sleeve. "Omma," she says, "Potty, please."

Everyone laughs. Shieun scoops the baby up in her arms, and whisks her away, neat and orderly and unperturbed, as she always is.

Youngjae's mother watches him. He got up early, leaving Junhong sleeping in an untidy heap on the couch. He'd been so eager to see his family that it had been like thirst, but now that he's here he feels sulky and has been mostly quiet. His brother, who he’d most wanted to see, is away on a business trip, and won’t return for a few days. Fortunately Kayoung and her new brother Joomin have occupied nearly all of the conversation.

"You look tired," his mother says suddenly. "Did you not sleep well? I wish you'd come here instead of going back to that apartment. I could take care of you then."

She'd never fully approved of him buying the place, not when he could come move home until he married.

"I'm fine, mom," he says, "and besides, Junhong is staying with me."

Her eyes narrow. "He is? You didn't tell me that he was staying." But her frown softens. "That poor boy. How is he doing?"

Youngjae's mother has clearly heard the news. Probably everyone has. She was always fond of all the other members, and Junhong especially. "He's okay," Youngjae says. "We didn't get the chance to talk much yet, but he's okay."

She sniffs. "Still, what a risk he took, doing that. I hope it won't work out too badly for him."

"He's smart," Youngjae says. "He knows what he's doing, Mom. He's the best at this out of any of us, after all."

She sighs, deep. "Sweetheart ... you're sure you won't stay for dinner tonight?"

Youngjae shakes his head. "I haven't even unpacked yet. I just wanted to come see you." That earns him a smile. "I'll come next week, when hyung is around too." 

"He works too much," his mother says tiredly. "The both of you, always working so hard at everything. Most mothers would be thrilled, right?"

Youngjae shrugs. He doesn't have all that much to show for his hard work.

She watches him a moment longer, and then she says, "Okay, yes. Next week. And bring Junhong when you come."

*****

It is raining and it is evening by the time Youngjae leaves, carrying a bag full of containers of kimchi and side dishes his mother insisted he take. On the bus ride home, he reads an email from Daehyun. Married last year, he is newly the father of twin girls – everyone is having babies. In the pictures he sends – beaming with two tiny fists wrapped around his index fingers, holding his little daughters to his chest, one in each arm – he looks happier than Youngjae has ever seen him. 

They keep in touch, of course. Daehyun is for all intents and purposes his best friend. But it's not like it was when they were in the group together, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. Daehyun moved back to Busan several years ago; he runs a seafood restaurant there that their fans still frequent. He's very busy these days. His emails are full of lots of news about his family and the business. Youngjae writes that he will come visit, as soon as the twins are a bit older.

Junhong is not at the apartment when Youngjae gets back. The blankets he used last night are folded at the end of the couch. The television and all the lights are off. His bag is still in the corner, though, so Youngjae figures he must be coming back. He's an adult, and he's free to do what he wants, of course.

It's time to unpack. There's no point in delaying it. This is his apartment and he'll be here for the foreseeable future, even if he can't quite shake the strange unfamiliar feeling yet. His clothes in suitcases in the closet. He cleaned out the drawers in case his brother wanted to sublet the apartment. He unpacks the suitcases now, slowly. 

His clothes are stale and creased and smell like plastic. They're plain clothes – white shirts and black slacks for working in his brother's office, sweaters in somber colors, sensible jeans. He doesn't have many of the flashy brand name things they were given any more.

He tries everything on. He's the same size, but the clothes hang awkwardly. He looks like an imposter in the expensive suits: grey complexion and tired eyes and shaggy hair still growing in. He bought them in an unusual fit of extravagance, when he was more optimistic about his future as Vice President of Development. That had been his title – a misnomer, he thinks, because all he ever did was clean up the messes his brother didn't have time for. Development sounds like he should be creating something. He hasn’t done that in a while. 

The job is being held for him, if he wants it.

He tries on all the clothes, one by one. The pieces he doesn't want he piles by the door, to be donated. All those years with Yongguk ingrained the charitable impulse. The things he wants to keep he hangs up or folds neatly. Youngjae's not an inherently tidy person; the clutter and mess of the dorm never really bothered him. But it makes him feel better to have his shirts hanging neatly, grouped by color, and his jeans folded in flat and tidy squares. These small things he can keep in order.

The doorbell rings. There are still clothes all over his bed. He's not expecting anyone. His hair is sticking up. He pushes it back down. The living room is neat, at least. He peers at the video monitor. It's Junhong.

"Hyung," he says, fuzzy through the speaker. "I forgot my key."

Youngjae buzzes him in and waits by the open door, hands tucked in his armpits. The elevator groans. The door pings prettily as it slides open. Junhong steps out, a tall figure wrapped in a shapeless black coat.

"Hyung," he says. He shakes his hair. The purple streaks look vivid in the dim light of the hall – or maybe they've been re-dyed?

"Hyung," he says again, closer, and then he's at the door. "Thanks. I forgot my key for the front door."

He pushes past Youngjae into the apartment. There's a moment where the both of them are neither in nor out, both standing on the lintel. Junhong's black coat reeks of wet wool and there are drops of water hanging in his eyelashes. His cheeks are red. He looks over at Youngjae quickly and then he steps into the apartment and the moment is over.

"It's really raining out there, huh?"

Junhong nods. "Cold too. I had to walk from the subway. The driver dropped me off in Guro and I connected. Evasive maneuvers."

Youngjae nods. That seems kind of extreme, but maybe it's warranted.

Junhong takes off his coat and unwinds his scarf. His cheeks are really red and he's smiling. There's something unusually loose and easy about the way he moves.

"You were out drinking." For a moment, Youngjae is the stern hyung again.

Junhong nods. "With my manager," he says. "I think he needed it." He sniffs, like he's got a cold. "How was your brother's?"

Youngjae shrugs. "My mother looked old. My niece and nephew are prodigies."

"Ahh," Junhong says, "it must run in the family."

Youngjae makes a nothing noise. He's the only one who managed to get his university degree; he's pretty sure that doesn't qualify him as a prodigy though. Suddenly, he wishes he were the one who'd gone out and gotten drunk. He almost feels that way after all day with his family. Tired and disoriented, but with none of the happy glow that infuses Junhong's cheeks.

"Hey," he says. The long evening is already starting to feel oppressive. "Do you want to go out?"

Junhong tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

"I know you've just been out," Youngjae says, "but you made me want a drink. Why don't we go out and get something to eat somewhere? I just need to wash up."

Junhong looks at him for a while, and then nods. "Okay, hyung."

*****

The waitress seats them by the window. The rain hasn't let up and the streets are dappled with gold and blue light. Junhong pulls his hat down lower. They're in a dumpy bar in a quiet neighborhood but his face is plastered on the front page of the Daily Chosun again after some respected veteran singer called him a disgrace. (The singer and his words have been roundly condemned.) It's a reasonable precaution.

Youngjae orders them both a beer. After the waitress leaves, he frowns. “Sorry. I should have checked to make sure that’s still what you drink. Maybe you’ve moved on to something more sophisticated. Dry martinis or red wine or something.” 

Junhong shakes his head. “No. I still drink Hite mostly. Himchan yells at me and tells me I should at least get something imported but …” He shrugs. “I like it.” 

Youngjae smiles. “The last time I went out drinking with Himchan he ended up ordering the entire bar a round of pina coladas. He specifically requested that the bartender put umbrellas in them.” That was a good night. It’s a good memory, but … “That was a long time ago, though.” 

Junhong worries the edge of his sleeves. He still favors big baggy clothes, hip hop style ostensibly, and collars that he can pull up to cover his chin. “You haven’t seen him since you got out?” 

Youngjae shakes his head. “Junhong, I haven’t seen anyone except you and my family. It’s only been a day.” It seems longer than that already. 

“Right,” Junhong says. “Sorry, hyung. I forgot, I guess …” 

“It’s okay,” Youngjae says. “You’ve got a lot on your mind.” He folds a cocktail napkin in half and in half again. “You’ve seen him though. That’s how you got my front door key. I knew I should have given it to Daehyun.” 

Junhong nods, a little sloppy, like his head is loose on his neck. “I was gonna see if I could stay at his place but it’s really small and his girlfriend just moved in and … I didn’t think you’d mind, hyung. I really didn’t.” 

“I don’t mind,” Youngjae says. “Junhong, have I said anything that makes you think I mind?” 

The waitress comes with their beers and a tray of snacks in little bowls. Junhong stares at the table until she leaves. Youngjae takes a long drink. Cheap beer, cheap taste. He used to pretend to be interested in imports and microbrews, but in the army he got used to this stuff. It’s fine. It does the job, anyway. 

“I don’t mind,” he says again more quietly. He didn’t eat much at his mother’s house and it’s late for dinner. The light bubbly beer is going right to his head. “It was nice, actually. Better than coming home and being all alone.” 

Junhong frowns. “We would have come to meet you. Anyway, I mean. If you’d asked.” 

Youngjae shrugged. “Everyone is busy. Jongup’s serving and Daehyun’s got the babies and Himchan’s got his shows and Yongguk is always doing more than he should …” 

“What about me?” Junhong takes a sip of his drink then, head tipped back and long throat bare. 

Youngjae shakes his head. “You’re the busiest of all.” 

“Yeah,” Junhong says. “But I still would have come.” 

Youngjae doesn’t want to talk about it. He knows they would have come but he doesn’t know how to explain to Junhong that even though they’re his brothers and even though he loves them and he knows they love him he can’t quite shake the lingering terrible feeling that if they came it would have been out of pity and not love. 

Youngjae has had more than enough pity. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t need it. 

“What did your manager say today?” 

Junhong shrugs. “Nothing,” he says. “I don’t know.” 

“That was quite a long time for nothing.” 

Junhong frowns. “They’re still trying to figure things out.” He spreads his hand flat on the table. “I guess the reaction isn’t as bad as they thought it would be.” 

“The reaction shouldn’t be bad at all,” Youngjae mutters, “except people are idiots. I don’t know why anyone would think that …” 

Junhong puts his hand on Youngjae’s wrist. The slight soft pressure makes Youngjae shake. “Hyung,” he says, and not in the soft questioning way he said it when he was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Youngjae drains his beer. “It’s a pretty big deal.” 

Junhong nods. “I know,” he says, and the light in his eyes is more sober. “I know it is, but it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” 

“So what do you want to talk about then?” Youngjae turns his empty glass around in his hand. He hopes the waitress comes soon with the next round. His cheeks are already getting red. 

Junhong shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Old times, I guess? Just … how happy I was to see you. How much I missed you.” 

Youngjae looks up. Junhong is staring right at him. “Oh,” he says, and then the waitress comes with two more tall glasses of cheap beer and saves him. 

*****

“The only proper food to eat when you’re this drunk is ddeokbokki,” Junhong says. “Cheese ddeokbokki, of course.” 

Youngjae does not agree. “Fish bread,” he says. “And pancakes. Walnut buns. Dried squid. Oooh. Soondae.” There are so many options that are better than ddeokbokki. Poor Junhong. He’s lived such a sheltered life. 

Junhong scrunches his face. “You sound like Daehyun hyung.” 

“Daehyun and I used to go drinking a lot,” Youngjae admits, and then he grabs Junhong’s arm because the sidewalk rears up rudely and sends him lurching to the side. "He knows about all the best snack food."

Junhong rolls his eyes. "Daehyun hyung would."

Of course, they're not in Seoul and they don't have so many options. There's just two lonely carts, parked across the street from one another in a perpetual and unheated rivalry. Youngjae usually goes to the one on the right side of the street, because the grandmother there is kind (and sometimes gives him free food).

"Grandmother," he says, pushing back the plastic flap, "Hello."

"Ahh, Youngjae, you're back."

It's a little sad how happy he is that she remembered his name. Whatever. He's drunk, and it's not exactly like he's got many fans these days.

"Yes, Grandmother. I just got back yesterday."

"Come here and let me look at you," she says, stepping out from behind her friers and griddles. She peers at him. "Well, you don't look any worse. Maybe they're finally starting to treat people right in that army." She pinches his cheek, hard. "Still too skinny though."

Youngjae frowns. He can see Junhong laughing at him out of the corner of his eye. He attracts Grandmother's attention too.

"Who's your friend?" She looks him up and down. "He's even worse then you are. Don't you boys eat these days? And that hair ..." She shakes her head. "Come on, let me give you something nice."

She gives them soondae and fried fishcakes and ddeokbokki and pickled eggs and she won't let Youngjae pay her. "Buy a bottle of soju," she says. "I'll let you pay for that."

So he does, even though they hadn't been planning to drink any more.

Although it's early spring and still cold, inside the plastic tent the heat from the burners makes it too warm. Youngjae unwinds his scarf. Junhong's hat is off, and his face mask is hanging from one ear. He eats one of the rice cakes whole.

"Ahhh! Good!" he says, around a full mouth. "But spicy!"

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "You know you don't like spicy food."

Junhong swallows. His eyes are watering. "Yeah," he says. "But I keep thinking that if I try it enough I'll start."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. If you don't like spicy food just don't eat it."

Junhong shrugs. "I guess," he says. "You hyungs all liked to eat it, so I guess I felt like I should too." He leans forward, a little unsteady. "I hated –hated– feeling like the baby."

Youngjae pours himself another glass of soju and drinks deep. Junhong is confessing, but it's not a surprise. "I don't blame you," he says. "You weren't an infant. You were so young when we debuted, but you had to be smarter and more talented and stronger than any of us." He's not sure if what he's saying is making any sense, but he believes it. Always has. Junhong is a special person. "Everybody must realize that now. You've done sooo much better than ..."

"Don't say that." Junhong's voice is miserable. His fringe falls into his face.

"What?"

"I'm only where I am today because you were – all of you were there to help me. I relied on all of you so much. I just didn't want to be babied; I always needed you to help me."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "I'm sorry, Junhong. I never ..."

"No," Junhong says. "Hyung, you were the best. It was never ... You never ..." He wrinkles his nose. He chews meditatively on a piece of fish cake. "I never felt that way with you. Yongguk hyung though ... I was six years younger than him, not sixteen."

"Yeah," Youngjae says. He fills his cup again and pours the last of the bottle in to Junhong's. "He kind of treated us all like that. That was the best way he knew how to lead, I guess."

Junhong frowns. "I didn't mean that I don't think he did a good job. I mean, Yongguk hyung! He's like, good at everything. I just ..." He's antsy and irritated.

Youngjae reaches out and puts his hand on Junhong's hand. "Hey," he says. "Don't worry. I know what you mean."

Junhong goes really still. "Oh," he says. He drinks the rest of his soju, fast, and then he's quiet for a while, but he doesn't pull his hand away. "I'm sorry that you have to babysit me now. I bet you wish you were sitting here with Daehyun hyung instead."

Youngjae shakes his head. "No," he says, "I'm glad it's you."

Then he realizes what he's said and he finishes his own drink, quick, to hide his embarrassment.

"Boys," Grandmother asks, "Do you want some more?" She's got more rice cakes, charred and steaming from the grill.

What the hell, Youngjae thinks. They've already gone this far. "Thank you, grandmother. We'll have another bottle of soju, too."

*****

"Ughhhhhhhh."

Youngjae thinks he's alive. It's hard to say. It feels like there's a screw being tightened in his left temple, and his mouth feels fuzzy and foul. He rolls over, and smacks into someone. Unwillingly, he opens an eye. Purple hair, big feet, knobby bare shoulders ...

"Junhong." He pokes him hard in the side. "Junhong."

Junhong makes a noise like a dying frog. "Whatttt? Ugh. Go away." He rolls over too and pulls the pillow on top of his head.

It doesn't all come rushing back. In fact, Youngjae remembers very little of the previous night, just rainy streets and steaming greasy food and alcohol – a lot of it. He has no idea how they got home. The clock on his bedside table says it's quarter to nine. Later than he normally sleeps, but he's got no reason to be up, especially when he feels like this.

Except the doorbell is ringing. Ahhh. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, but it doesn't clear up the gritty worn feeling. "Who the fuck is that?"

Wobbly and weak, he gets to his feet. The unexpected visitor leans on the bell again. Youngjae presses the video monitor: big forehead, black hair, bony nose ...

Himchan. Youngjae’s not sure if he’s up for this right now, but he’s too tired and sick to think of any ways of getting Himchan to go away. He buzzes him in. 

Quickly, he gets a bottle of aspirin from the bathroom and downs two. They’re not his. Must be Junhong’s. He’s glad someone thought of the important things. He’s wearing boxers and a white tee shirt with a suspicious stain own the front. Better get changed. His jeans from last night are uncomfortably stiff, like something’s been spilled on them. They smell like stale smoke. He grabs a clean pair and a new shirt. His hair is greasy. He tries to pat it smooth, but it’s no use. He pulls on a beanie. 

And Himchan is already at the door. 

“Yoo Youngjae,” he says, stepping in. “Let me look at you.” He puts his hands on Youngjae’s shoulders. “Nope,” he says, leaning too close. “I thought the army would make a man out of you but you still look like a baby.” 

Youngjae grimaces, annoyed. “Get off, hyung.” 

“Ahh, I missed you too, dongsaeng,” Himchan says, and pulls him into a hug. 

While Himchan is hanging his coat in the hall, Youngjae gets a glass of water. His head is going thud-thud but the room isn’t spinning. He’s not still drunk, at least. 

“I’d offer you coffee,” Youngjae says, “but I don’t even have any.”

Himchan waves a hand, nonchalant. He’s a much calmer, more steady person than Youngjae ever would have guessed he’d be. He spent so much of his youth worrying about getting old, but age suits Himchan remarkably well. He’s lost the gangly, pinched look he always had and his face is harder – less pretty and more handsome, in a good way. He wears his dark hair on the long side and even has a little grey coming in at the temples. Youngjae tried to tease him about it but it honestly does make him look distinguished. The dark, expensive clothes he wears now further that impression, although Youngjae suspects the hand of a stylist – or his girlfriend – at work there.

He takes his water and sits down on the couch. 

“So,” Himchan says. “How are you feeling?” Well aged or not, the familiar wicked gleam is in his eye. 

“I’m fine,” Youngjae lies. 

“Fine?” Himchan wrinkles his nose. “Fine?” 

Youngjae shrugs. “I mean, it’s going to take some time getting used to but …” 

Himchan whistles. “Wow,” he says. “You really don’t remember at all, do you?” 

They had a lot to drink last night. A lot. He honestly doesn’t remember. And waking up in the bed next to Junhong … Youngjae’s stomachs sinks. “Um …” 

Himchan throws his head back and cackles. “Ahhh, I missed you Youngjae. It’s nothing bad. You and Junhonggie were just feeling nostalgic I guess.” 

He takes out his phone and pulls up a picture: Youngjae and Junhong, blurry under florescent lights, holding up a sign reading ‘Himchan Oppa Saranghaeyo ♥♥♥’. Junhong’s mouth is open and Youngjae has something sparkly around his neck. He can’t even begin to guess what. 

“Oh god.” Youngjae closes his eyes. 

“It’s _cute_ ,” Himchan says. “Thinking about your old hyung on your big night out on the town. I knew I raised you kids right.” He leans back. “Of course, you could have invited me … unless it was a date?” His eyes are questioning and he’s not quite smiling. 

Himchan is the only one that Youngjae ever told. Back when they were kids, back when he thought that Junhong was his _one true love_ , he was too scared to breathe a word of it to anyone – but Himchan noticed, and asked, and Youngjae had confessed. And later, after Youngjae realized that nothing would or could ever happen with Junhong, Himchan’s the only one that knew about Hyunwoo, about Junyoung, about Kyungsoo …. Himchan’s the one that booked the hotel rooms. Himchan’s the one that told him it was okay, really okay, no matter what society said, as long as they loved each other – or, if not love, as long as they were there for a consensual good time. 

Truthfully, he owes Himchan a lot. But … no. “Shut up,” he says. “It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a … anything.” 

“It wasn’t an anything?” Himchan doesn’t look convinced. “That was a very colorful text for a nothing.” 

Youngjae shrugs. “I spent all day with my mother, and Junhong was in meetings. I just … I wanted to unwind.” 

“Well,” Himchan says. “You certainly unwound.” He’s not judging. Youngjae knows that. He just has the particular talent of making everything he says sound like a judgement. 

Miserable, Youngjae takes a sip of water. 

“You haven’t told him, have you?” 

“What?” Youngjae looks up. 

“How you feel.” Himchan’s quieter now, and thank god because the last thing that Youngjae needs is for Junhong to wake up and come out here. If they’re going to talk about this they shouldn’t do it while he’s sleeping in the next room. They don’t need to talk about it at all. 

“Of course not,” Youngjae says. Then he realizes his mistake, and belatedly adds, “I don’t … that was a long time ago, hyung. He’s like … he’s my brother.” 

Himchan’s scepticism is deep. “Like I’m your brother?” 

“No,” Youngjae says, because he loves Himchan to death, but kissing him? No. "Definitely not."

"So like what kind of brother, then?" Himchan's arms are crossed over his chest, and his face is vacant.

Youngjae shrugs uneasily. "I don't know," he says. "Like .... a younger one, I guess."

Himchan leans forward. "I think you should tell him."

"No," Youngjae says. He shakes his head. "I mean, even if I did feel that way about him still ... He's dealing with enough right now, hyung. How could I burden him even more?"

Himchan shrugs. "Maybe it wouldn't be a burden," he says. "Maybe he'd be glad. Maybe it would make him feel less alone."

Youngjae shuts his eyes. He knows what that feels like. God, he knows. So long, and the only person who Youngjae ever told was Himchan – and only then because he asked. Everyone knows about Junhong now, but Youngjae bets he still feels pretty lonely.

"I'll think about it," he says, then. "Not about the liking him thing. But about me, I mean."

"Good," Himchan says, sounding satisfied. "Be wise, dongsaeng."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. He hugs one of the throw pillows to his chest. "You picked a pretty bad morning to visit," he says then, eager for a new topic. "I didn't even go to the grocery store yet."

"That's okay," Himchan says. "I had breakfast with Aeju."

Aeju is Himchan's girlfriend. She is twenty six, beautiful, and has a degree from Oxford. She writes for a national magazine on a variety of cultural and political issue; Youngjae has never totally understood how Himchan persuaded her to date him.

"So what are you doing here?" It's rude, but his head is aching.

Himchan huffs. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't drank yourself into a total stupor. Came close, it looks like but ..."

The door to the bedroom opens, and Junhong staggers out. His hair is in disarray and he needs to shave. He's also an unpleasant green color. He looks at them, blinks, and then continues staggering into the bathroom. The door is barely shut before they hear him puking violently.

"Poor Junhong," Himchan says. "You shouldn't have let him drink so much."

Youngjae frowns. "He's an adult, you know."

"I know," Himchan says, "but you know how much he hates to be sick."

There's nothing to do but listen and wait. Just when Youngjae thinks he's stopped, he starts up again. Finally, there's silence. Junhong emerges from the bathroom pale and damp.

"Himchan hyung," he says, in a gravelly voice. "Hello."

He plods over to the couch and sits down next to Youngjae, so close their thighs are touching. He reaches for Youngjae's glass of water.

"What are you doing here?"

Some of the water dribbles out of the glass and down his throat. Youngjae looks away.

"Oh," Himchan says, "my intuition told me I better come check up on my two favorite dongsaengs. Good thing I did. The pair of you are looking worse for the wear."

"Jongup is your favorite dongsaeng," Junhong says.

"You're all my favorites," Himchan says, "and since you're awake now, why don't I show you how much I care for you by taking you both out to brunch?"

"Brunch?" Youngjae doesn't know if he can stomach any food right now.

Junhong grimaces. "I don't really feel well though." He doesn't look well either.

"It's only quarter to ten," Himchan says. "I can wait while you both shower and try to turn yourselves back into respectable human beings."

Youngjae wrinkles his nose. He's a bit stale, but he's still a respectable human being.

"Hyung," Junhong says. "I can't go anywhere ... I mean, I have to go somewhere quiet, okay? The company doesn't want any pictures or anything until they've figured out what to do."

"Don't worry," Himchan says, waving a hand. "I know just the place. And they serve great mimosas too."

"Hyung," Junhong says, eyes wide with alarm, "I really don't think I should drink any more."

Himchan shakes his head. "Mimosas don't count, Junhong. They're almost all juice. The champagne will settle your stomach, anyway." 

Junhong looks doubtful.

"Come on," Himchan says. "Trust me. When have I ever done anything to lead you astray?"

*****

Mimosas count. A little bit, at least. Youngjae isn't drunk, exactly. He's steady enough on his feet as he waves goodbye to Himchan. Last night's rain has passed. The sun is warm on his shoulders. He's impossibly tired and everything seems wonderfully slow and easy. He feels like he's halfway inside a dream.

Junhong looks just as tired. "Himchan hyung," he says.

"Yeah," Youngjae says, digging in his pocket for his keys. He doesn't know what else to say.

The elevator is cool and quiet. Junhong rests his head against the wall. Youngjae watches as the button for each floor lights up in turn. The hallway is empty. It's late afternoon. People are at work or at school. Most people. People with jobs and obligations and real lives.

They left the window in the bedroom open accidentally. A happy accident; now the apartment is cool and fresh and free of the hot stink and sweat from the night before.

Junhong kicks off his shoes and drops onto the couch. He's so long he takes up the whole thing. Youngjae is tired of sitting up. He pulls a pillow out from under Junhong's feet and lies on the floor. 

"I'm still hungry," Junhong says.

Youngjae nods. They didn't really eat much. It seemed like a bad idea at the outset. "We could order chicken." Chicken was always the ultimate reward after a hard day of practice.

"Mmmm," Junhong says. He flaps an arm lazily, but doesn't come close to grabbing his phone on the coffee table. "I miss having manager hyung around to do this kind of stuff."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "I can do it," he says. He sits up. His body feels heavy and full, but in a good way. He takes a breath before he dials. The person on the other end of the phone sighs impatiently while Youngjae tries to figure out what to order. In the end, pressured, he gets a set menu – two chickens, one sweet and one spicy.

"Too much food," Junhong says. 

"Yeah," Youngjae says. "Too bad Himchan left. We can save the leftovers, though."

Junhong doesn't answer. The afternoon is really warm and the air has a green smell that Youngjae's missed. He's not some nature lover, but there's something about spring that is precious to him. Maybe it's the memories of that first spring after they debuted, which still is brighter and more vivid and happier in his memory than any that followed it.

"Junhong," he says.

Junhong doesn't answer.

"I ..."

He's not sure if Himchan is right. He's not sure, but right now he just wants to say something, to confess and stop worrying because if Junhong knows and gets angry, at least it'll be an ending.

"Junhong," he says again. "I never told you, but I'm gay."

There is a long silence. Another car rumbles past. Youngjae doesn't remember the windows being so noisy. The elevator groans. Youngjae wonders if Junhong is asleep, or if he's just pretending not to hear.

But then Junhong says, "I knew that. I always knew, hyung."

Youngjae swallows. "Oh," he says. "Um, Himchan told you?"

"No," Junhong says. "It was obvious. I mean, you and Kyungsoo ... the way you used to look at him ... I think everyone knew."

"Oh," Youngjae says. Everyone knew? He kept the secret for so long, held it in until it burned bitter to even thinking about it ... and everyone knew. "Daehyun knew?"

Junhong sits up. "He knew, hyung. He asked me one time why I thought you didn't just tell us all."

Youngjae swallows. "Oh," he says. "I was ... I didn't want to risk the band."

Junhong shakes his head. "You could have just told us," he says. "I can't say I recommend an unplanned public confession, but you could have told us."

"I was scared," Youngjae says.

Junhong nods. "I know. I was too."

Junhong is braver than he is. Youngjae lies on his back silently for a long time. "Sorry," he says, at last. 

"It's okay, hyung," Junhong says. "Honestly ..." He bites his lip, and looks down. "This is going to sound dumb, but I used to think about telling you. About me, I mean. I used to have the biggest crush on you, when I was a kid."

Youngjae feels like his heart has been dipped in ice water. Is he supposed to laugh? There's no way he can laugh. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah," Junhong says.

And then the doorbell rings. The chicken is here.

*****

"You don't have to come back."

Youngjae nods.

His brother takes a long sip of his drink – a Manhattan on the rocks. He used to drink beer. Since his marriage, his tastes have become more sophisticated. He dresses better, too. Everyone has grown up.

"I'm just saying, I know it's hard to come back. So if you want to take a month, or two month, or an entire year, that's fine. And if you don't want to come back at all, that's fine too."

Youngjae nods and takes a sip of his own drink – just water this time. He's still recovering from the excess of the previous day. "I want to come back," he says quietly. He knows his brother means well. They were always close, as children and as they grew up, and he knows his hyung just wants to help him. But ... "I don't know what else I'd do."

His brother shrugs. "You'd figure something else out, Youngjae. Don't come back just because you don't know what to do. Do you need money? If you need money you know I'll give it to you."

Youngjae shakes his head. "I don't need money, hyung. I don't ... I didn't mind working for you."

His brother nods. "And you did a fine job. I'm not saying this because you did a bad job, kid. I just ... I remember how happy you used to be, up on stage. You're not happy like that anymore."

Youngjae closes his eyes. This restaurant – his brother's choice – is quiet at midday. The black leather booths and gleaming chrome fixtures are morbid at quarter after noon. "I'm happy," he says. Then he says, "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me for anything," his brother says. "I love you, Youngjae. I'm lucky. I've got Shieun and the kids now and the business is thriving. I can take care of the people I love. That's all I wanted, right?"

Youngjae nods, because it is. That's exactly what his brother worked so hard for.

"You didn't want that though. I know things didn't work out exactly like you hoped, but you're still young. Before you enlist, it seems like your whole life is going to end once it happens. But it doesn't. You can still do anything you want," he says. He drains his glass. "So just think about it. And if coming back to the company is what you want, there will always be a place for you."

Youngjae nods. "Thanks, hyung," he says. "I .... I'll think about it.

"Good," his brother says. Then he grins, looking like the hyung Youngjae remembers from when he was a kid. Then waitress comes to take their order and he turns to her and addresses her in a smooth, polished voice and he’s not like the hyung Youngjae remembers at all.

*****

"Oh hyung," Junhong calls, not even waiting for Youngjae to take off his coat. "We were spotted."

"What?" Youngjae glances around, nervously, but of course there are no reporters in the entryway to his apartment. "Where?"

"Not here," Junhong says. "When we went out with Himchan yesterday. There's a post on your fancafe."

"My what?" Youngjae kicks off his shoes and walks into the living room. Junhong is sprawled on the couch. His tee shirt has ridden up and a slice of pale back is bare. His hair is messy and he needs a shave. Youngjae tries hard to put those things from his mind. Yesterday Junhong said he _used_ to have a crush on Youngjae. Definitively past tense. There's no point in dwelling.

"Your fancafe, hyung." Junhong holds up his tablet. There's a banner with a heavily photoshopped picture of him from his solo promotions that reads 'Yoo Youngjae Fan Cafe'. He hasn't seen those pictures in years. "Your fans are so happy. Listen: 'Youngjae oppa ㅠㅠ I can't believe he's out of the army already. I missed him so much.' 'Youngjae oppa still has his baby face ㅋㅋ I can't believe he's already back. It seems like he enlisted yesterday.' 'ㅠㅠ Oppa, we've been waiting for you. Please come back soon –'"

"Okay, I get it." Youngjae feel a pang in his chest because these people were the ones that came to his music show recordings and bought his album and cheered him on. They’re the ones that made that bitter chapter in his life even a little worthwhile. "Why are you even looking at my fancafe, anyway?"

Junhong shrugs. "I keep an eye on these things," he says. "I like to know what the fans are saying."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "I'm sure your fans have plenty to say."

"Yeah," Junhong says, "but the company watches all of that."

He scrolls down the page. "Listen, here's another one. ' _It's been so long since our Youngjae oppa has been seen with any of his members. I'm so glad they're still friends._ ' ... See, even the fans realize how hard it is to get you to do anything."

Youngjae frowns. "I wasn't avoiding you guys," he says. He just ... hadn't wanted to talk to anyone. He’d been busy with work anyway. 

"They still send you fanmail." Junhong is distracted, still reading through the posts. "The company had a whole big bundle of it they'd been saving up. They asked me if I knew your address – this was before Himchan told me – and I said no so I just had them send it to my house."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "Um. Thanks."

Junhong looks up. "I can get my manager to bring them over here, if you want."

Youngjae shakes his head. He's not sure if he wants to read those letters. He can imagine what they say, how sorry the fans must have felt. He feels most sorry of all.

Junhong's eyes narrow. "I know you were upset that your album didn't do well, hyung, but you should read them anyway."

The matter of fact way that Junhong says it hurts, like a punch to the gut. Of course, it's been years now. And it's true. The album – the one he'd always wanted to make, with the kind of music he'd always wanted to sing – hadn't done well at all. Those are just the facts.

But it hurts. Junhong knew it would hurt and he said it anyway.

"Ah," Youngjae says. "You're right. Why don't you have him bring them?" He isn't going to cry, of course, but his eyes are stinging. "I'm going to get some water."

In the kitchen he fills a glass from the pitcher in the fridge. It's still afternoon. The light is good. He thinks he'll get some plants for over the cupboards. He had a plant before he left, but he gave it to his mother. It's probably thrived with her. He won't ask for it back. He'll get a new plant and just try again.

He's not upset. He's not. He's not upset.

"Hey," Junhong says. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Youngjae turns and frowns. "What are you sorry for?"

"I didn't mean to ..." He looks uncertain and awkward, hands folded behind his back.

"Don't worry about it," Youngjae says. "It's true, right?"

Junhong shrugs and looks even more uncomfortable. "I don't think that ..." He licks his lips. "I bought two copies, hyung. I thought it was a good album."

Youngjae shakes his head. "It wasn't." It shouldn't hurt this much. He shouldn't care this much. He's a professional, or he was, and he's suffered plenty of other disappointments.

It's just ... that was the first time it had ever been him, on his own. In the group he was always paired with Daehyun, to his own disadvantage. It hadn't mattered. He'd been glad to just do his part as well as he could. But maybe somewhere deep down he'd been craving the chance to show everyone that he could do it on his own, without standing in anyone's limelight. He’d scorned help – even Yongguk’s – and insisted on being involved in every decision.

He’d been wrong. The songs he wrote, the styling, the MVs – all of it had been a bad mistake. He remembers the dismal first week sales numbers. He wishes he could forget. And all of it was made far worse by the fact that everyone else – every last one of them – had succeeded where he failed. Jongup was a regular on a popular variety show. Daehyun's first solo album sold well, and the follow up did even better. Yongguk and Himchan, after they got out, each succeeded in their pursuits. And Junhong – Zelo – on his own achieved far, far more than they ever did as a group.

"It was," Junhong says again.

Youngjae nods. He's really not going to cry. He can't remember if he's ever cried in front of Junhong and he's not going to make this the first time.

"I used to listen to it when I missed you," Junhong said. "I always really loved your voice, hyung."

Youngjae breathes in, shaky and hard. "Thanks," he says.

"You don't really sing any more at all, do you?" Junhong asks. "Not even to the radio or anything?"

He doesn't – not to the radio, not in the shower, not in the Army talent contests where first place earned you two days of leave. He could have won those easily, he thinks, but – “Not really. No.” 

*****

"If you didn't call soon, I was going to revoke your best friend privileges."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "And what are those exactly?"

“Twenty percent off at the restaurant," Daehyun says, "and if you ever get your sorry self down here, I might be willing to let you hold the twins."

Youngjae grins. He can hear in Daehyun's voice how happy he is, and if Daehyun is happy it makes Youngjae happy. "I'm gonna come down soon." He closes his eyes. "How are you? I missed you, you big dummy."

"Good," Daehyun says. "Everything is good. Mijung is great. The babies are great. They're already sitting up and starting to crawl. No first word yet, but I'm thinking it's gonna be soon, and I really hope it's 'appa'. Mijung keeps telling me there's no way because she's got the food and they're hungry little bugs."

"They're your kids, aren't they?" Youngjae smiles. "I want to come see them. And you."

"You should!" In the background, a baby squeals. "See, she's telling Uncle Youngjae to get his sorry ass down here soon."

Youngjae snorts. "I'm gonna. I've only been out for a few days, Daehyun."

"I know," Daehyun says. "I was gonna give you a week before I made Himchan hyung round you up."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "How's the restaurant?" It feels weird, running down the laundry list of things to cover.

"Good," Daehyun says. "Good. The fans still come and leave gifts and messages. It's pretty funny. One of these days I need to send you all pictures."

"Good," Youngjae says. "I'm glad it's doing well." He pauses. "Um. Daehyun ..."

"What?" A baby – the same baby, or the other twin this time? – cries in the background. Daehyun murmurs some nonsense. "Yes, it's okay, sweetheart. Come here. Daddy will hold you. Yes ... Yes, Youngjae? What?"

Youngjae swallows. Junhong is still out, and he made this call for a reason.

"Hey," he says. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Daehyun's voice is tense, suddenly. "What? For what are you sorry?"

"Calm down," Youngjae says. "For like ... " He breathes in deeply. "Junhong has been staying here."

"Oh," Daehyun says. "He has? That's good. I mean, I'm glad he's not just locked in some meeting room at the TS building ..."

Youngjae swallows. "He said ... I told him ... He said you guys all knew that I'm gay."

Daehyun is silent for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I think we all knew. Or guessed at least."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Youngjae says. "I thought it would break up the band."

"Hey, Youngjae," Daehyun says. "You know it's fine. I mean, there were tons of things we didn't tell each other back then. We were with each other all the time. There was no room to think or breathe or do anything. I knew you'd tell me someday."

Youngjae nods. "Yeah," he says, "but sorry anyway."

In the quiet he can hear the baby fussing, and he can hear the quiet sweet noises that Daehyun makes to sooth her. He feels bad, dumping this all on Daehyun. He should wait. He should keep it in and not confess because it's not Daehyun's problem. But ... Daehyun is supposed to be his best friend.

"There's something else," he says.

"What?" Daehyun is laughing but it's strained. "What's with all the dramatics today, dude? What's wrong?"

Youngjae closes his eyes. "I'm in love with Junhong," he says. "I have been for a really long time."

Daehyun's laugh is easier. "I knew that too."

Youngjae doesn't understand, because it's something he could barely admit to himself. "I never told anyone," he said.

"It was just obvious," Daehyun says. "You were always a little sweeter with him, a little nicer. I mean, you never used to bring _me_ Poweraid after practice."

Youngjae flushes. Had it been that obvious? Does everyone know? Does Himchan? Does Junhong? "Oh," he says.

"Hey, hey," Daehyun says. "Don't get all 'Oh' on me Yoo Youngjae. Am I your best friend or not? I'm supposed to notice these things, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Youngjae says. "I guess you are. I mean ... you are my best friend."

"Good," Daehyun says.

Feeling younger and more childish than he has in a long time, Youngjae asks, "Do you think Junhong knows?"

Daehyun sighs. "I don't think he does."

"What do you think I should do?" Youngjae just wants someone to tell him what's right. He can't trust himself to figure it out.

But Daehyun says, "I don't know, Youngjae. I really don't know." And he can hear every one of the long sleepless nights awake in Daehyun's voice. The baby cries again.

"I know," Youngjae says. "Thanks Daehyun. I'm gonna come and visit soon, okay?"

"Good," Daehyun says. "I'm going to teach you how to change a diaper, first thing."

"You're gross," Youngjae says, wrinkling his nose.

"You're grosser," Daehyun says, laughing.

*****

"Why are you listening to that?" The single from Youngjae’s mini-album is playing. 

Junhong looks up. "Hmm?"

"Shut it off," Youngjae says, annoyed. He’s coming back from the grocery store and his hands hurt from carrying the bags, but they can’t keep eating fast food forever. 

“I don’t want to,” Junhong says. There are papers spread out all over the coffee table and he's wearing his glasses. 

"Fine," he says. He drops his bag on the floor. In the kitchen, he puts the groceries away as loudly as possible. The cereal goes in the cupboard, and he slams the door shut. He puts lettuce in the crisper and shoves the drawer closed. He crumples the bags and stomps his feet. 

Junhong turns the music up louder. 

Youngjae’s voice is tinny through the cheap speakers of Junhong’s tablet, but it doesn’t sound bad. He never thought it did, though. 

Shows what he knows. 

The song ends, and then starts again. Junhong is tapping his foot in time with the beat, but a mid-tempo R&B ballad is not exactly a foot-tapping song. He’s just trying to be as annoying as possible and he’s good at it. 

“Junhong! Turn it off!” 

“Hmmm?” He looks up, guileless, and cups a hand to his ear. “Hyung, I can’t hear you!” 

Youngjae stuffs the rest of the grocery bags in the cupboard. He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, right next to Junhong. He leans in, and whispers in Junhong’s ear. “Turn it off.” 

Junhong shakes his head. “Hyung, this is my favorite song.” He’s completely, totally deadpan. 

Brat. 

Youngjae lunges for the tablet, but Junhong’s got the advantage of longer arms and longer … everything. He holds it easily out of Youngjae’s reach, but Youngjae’s played this game before. Junhong is notoriously ticklish. 

Youngjae digs his fingers into Junhong’s side and Junhong squirms, laughing and gasping. “No, hyung! Don’t do it! Tickling isn’t fair!” 

“Anything is fair!” Youngjae turns so he’s straddling Junhong’s thighs. “Shut it off!” 

“No!” Junhong’s face is bright red. “Stop being so stupid, hyung. Let me listen to what I want!” His shirt has ridden up and Youngjae can see his stomach jump as he gasps. “Hey! You’re gonna make me drop it!” 

“Then turn it off,” Youngjae says, sitting back. He’s smiling, but he’s not sure why.

Junhong’s eyes narrow. “I’ll turn it off if you sing for me.” 

The song ends and starts again. He plays dirty. Youngjae scowls. “Just turn it off.” 

"Sing for me," Junhong says, grinning.

"No!" Youngjae reaches for the tablet again but Junhong is too tall and it's out of his reach. Junhong's cheeks are red and Youngjae can feel his heart pounding. They're too big for the couch. "Cut it out."

"No," Junhong says. "I love this song." He starts to sing along, loudly.

"You're awful," Youngjae says.

Junhong shrugs and keeps singing. The lyrics haven't aged as well as Youngjae might have hoped. He doesn't think too much of singing about broken hearts and secret embraces these days. And in all honesty he never has. Junhong's voice isn't good. He took vocal lessons with the rest of them but his talents lie elsewhere. Still, he can carry a tune at least, and he does know all the words.

Youngjae really wants Junhong to stop singing. "Shut up," he says.

Junhong shakes his head.

Then Youngjae leans forward and kisses him, not the kind of playful kiss on the cheek that used to make Junhong squirm when they were kids, but a real kiss.

He's not sure why he does it, other than he feels mad, like an itch under his skin, and it's been a really long time since he's been close enough to anyone to feel the heat of someone's skin through their clothing, and it's Junhong, who he's been in love with for a long, long time.

And it does make Junhong shut up, instantly. The tablet falls to the floor. Junhong shuts up and he leans forward. His big hands find Youngjae's hips and pull him closer. He slides his fingers under the edge of Youngjae's tee shirt, and his fingers rest in the small of Youngjae's back. Junhong's mouth is warm and smooth. He keeps looking up through his eyelashes. Youngjae's hands are on Junhong's solid shoulders. He can feel the rough fabric of Junhong's tee shirt and his fingertips dig into the muscle. He has to, because otherwise he feels like he might shake right out of his skin.

Youngjae would be pretty happy kissing Junhong forever, but the song keeps playing, on loop. He pulls away, and then kisses Junhong once more, and then leans over to grab the stupid thing. Finally, there's silence.

Junhong's lips are really red and his hair is messed up although Youngjae's not sure how that happened. He's just ... staring, and Youngjae starts to get this bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted to kiss Junhong for so long that he's had more than enough time to think of all the reasons why it's a bad idea, and all the many, many awful consequences that would follow. Some of those aren't so relevant, any more, but still – He probably shouldn't have ...

"Hyung," Junhong says. "Youngjae."

"Huh?" Youngjae swallows. "Junhong. What?"

Junhong smiles. "That was a low blow."

Youngjae laughs, but it's more like a sigh of relief. "I told you to shut it off."

Junhong's lips press together. Youngjae can tell he's trying not to smile. "I guess you just don't appreciate quality music. Philistine."

Youngjae laughs for real, because Junhong is such a little punk. "Shut up," he says. "I hate you."

Junhong shakes his head. "Liar. You love me."

Youngjae goes still. He's still _in Junhong's lap_. This isn't where he wants to have this conversation. He doesn't want to have it at all. He's not Daehyun. He never dreamed of a moonlit confession.

"Well," he says, trying not to let his voice shake. "You're okay, I guess."

Junhong snorts, but then his face goes soft. "Hyung, that means you're going to kiss me again, right?" His voice is soft, too, and a little pleading.

And Youngjae laughs and does, because as much as he knows this could all be a bad mistake, it feels too good for to worry about any of the rest of it right now, not if Junhong wants it too. 

*****

Youngjae wakes up and his head is on Junhong's chest and his arm is crushed into the side of the couch. It's late.

"Hey," he whispers. "Wake up."

Junhong shifts, uneasy.

Youngjae untangles his legs, pries himself out of the soft, comforting warmth of Junhong's body.

"Wake up," he says again.

Junhong opens his eyes, mouth wrinkled. "Hyung ... it's the middle of the night."

"I know," Youngjae says. "Come on."

He grabs Junhong's hand and pulls him to his feet. They stumble down the hall like they're drunk. Youngjae unbuttons his jeans and kicks them off. Junhong pulls off his shirt. His back is broad and pale. Youngjae throws back the covers and collapses onto the bed. He arches his back. Falling asleep on the couch was a bad idea. Of course, he hadn't meant to, but it had seemed foolish or impossible to do anything else but kiss Junhong, more and more slowly, until just his closed lips were resting against Junhong's jaw and Junhong's mouth against his temple.

Junhong. He's climbing in carefully on the other side of the bed. He lies still, flat on his back. His eyes are closed. Youngjae can see his chest rise and fall.

"You're dumb," he mutters, and he grabs Junhong by the arm and pulls him close. Junhong doesn't say anything but he wraps his arms around Youngjae's waist and digs his cold toes into Youngjae's calf. He's a messy sleeper, a kid who always needed to hold onto a pillow and tangle his legs in the blankets. Youngjae might as well take advantage of that.

"I wasn't sure ..." Junhong's nose is pressed into Youngjae's shoulder.

"I'm not either," Youngjae says. "We'll figure it out tomorrow. Go to sleep."

*****

"Hey."

Junhong is awake. It's very early still, and the light is the clean blue light of early morning. His skin looks poreless and smooth as marble, but he's warm. Youngjae can feel the warmth of Junhong's body beside him. This isn't a dream. Junhong's not a statue. He's a real living person.

"Hey," he says, blinking. His eyes still get puffy in the morning. "Hyung ..."

Youngjae smiles. It's frightening, the way his heart feels when he looks at Junhong. "Junhong-ah."

Junhong beams. "Hyung." He rolls over and presses his face into Youngjae's chest and throws his arms around Youngjae's waist. "Hyung." His voice cracks, and his nose is digging into Youngjae's sternum.

"Junhong, are you okay? What's wrong?"

Junhong shakes his head. "No," he says. "I'm fine. I'm good." His voice is muffled.

"Good," Youngjae says. He runs his fingers through Junhong's hair – still silky and fine after so many years of bleach. He was blonde for so long that it had been a shock the first time he re-dyed his hair to black. Youngjae always noticed those things. He's been noticing those things about Junhong for far too long. "Hey," he says. "I have to tell you something."

Junhong rolls onto his back. "Hyung, please ..." He squeezes his eyes shut. His chest is bare and broad, and his stomach is cut and flat and Youngjae wants him as much now as he ever has. Maybe more. "Can we just not talk about it?"

Youngjae frowns. "Junhong, relax." He rubs the inside of Junhong's arm, just above his elbow. "I'm not ... I don't regret anything."

"Oh," Junhong says, still staring at the ceiling.

Youngjae nods. "I wanted to tell you that I ... liked you too. When we were kids. And .... I guess I never stopped liking you. I thought you should know." The word are tepid, but he wants Junhong to know because Junhong told him, and because he doesn't know how he can pretend he hasn't wanted this for the better part of the last ten years. Honesty might be the only thing he can give Junhong. 

" _Oh_ ," Junhong says. "Hyung. Why didn't you say anything?"

Youngjae shrugs. He rolls onto his back too. As long as he known Junhong this conversation is still easier to have when they're not looking at each other. "I thought it would mess up the band," he says. "I didn't think you'd feel the same way."

"You're so dumb," Junhong says. "I can't believe you were supposed to be the brain."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. He always hated that nickname. "Shut up. I was a kid," he says. "And I was scared."

Junhong sits up. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair falls in front of his face. "I've been in love with you since like forever, hyung."

It should hurt or be painful or shocking but it's not. It's easy, just like it's easy for Youngjae to roll over so that he rests his head on Junhong's knee, looks up at his clear smooth face. "Yeah? Why?"

Junhong shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "You were always ... mature."

Youngjae snorts. "Wow," he says. "I'm glad my teenage posturing was so convincing."

"I'm serious," Junhong says. He puts his hand on Youngjae's chest. His palm is warm. Youngjae's heart is beating so fast. He wonders if Junhong can feel it. "You had fun, but you were always calm about serious stuff. And you never asked for help. I needed everyone to help me with _everything_. I really admired that."

Youngjae doesn't know how Junhong can remember it like that. What he remembers is a long series of shortfalls that he only partially overcame. He remembers never being quite good enough. He remembers how Junhong was a natural at everything, and never held them back, and never needed more help than the rest of them even though he was younger. "Oookay," he says. "I don't know about that, but thanks. I guess."

"I'm not kidding," Junhong says, jabbing him hard in the side. "You always do that and I always hated it."

Youngjae wrinkles his nose. "Do what?," he asks.

"You act like you’re not, y’know. Incredible," Junhong says. "You're amazing, hyung. And I always thought you were really gorgeous."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. There was a time when he was kind of hot, after he grew up and before he got old, but always? "Okay," he says. "Enough with the flattery. I already confessed. You don't have to butter me up."

Junhong shakes head. "You're stupid, hyung." He rolls onto his side. “You’re so hot.” 

“Okay,” Youngjae says. “Okay. I got it, Junhong.” He’s not trying to be a jerk or wheedle out more compliments.

Junhong doesn’t seem convinced. He pushes Youngjae onto his back with a firm hand on his shoulder and slides a leg over his hip. It’s not uncomfortable, but Junhong’s heavy enough that Youngjae is pinned down. He couldn’t throw Junhong off even if he wanted. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Junhong says again, leaning forward. “You’re so gorgeous. You have no idea how long I wanted to do this.” He runs his hands across Youngjae’s chest, cradles the rounds of his shoulders. “Your arms. Your _shoulders_.” He scoots further down, so his weight is on Youngjae’s thighs, and he leans forward and presses his mouth to the inside of Youngjae’s elbow, and then up further. Tiny, weightless kisses along the inside of his bicep. They tickle. Junhong’s fringe falls in front of his face. Youngjae wants to squirm away, or turn his head, but god, he’s wanted this for so long. It should be embarrassing, but it just feels good. 

Junhong presses his nose into Youngjae’s armpit. That tickles too. It’s kind of weird, but not in a bad way. 

“Gross,” Youngjae says, just because. 

“Nah,” Junhong says. “I like it. You smell good.”

Youngjae makes a strangled noise. 

“What?” Junhong asks, looking up quizzically. “I like it.” 

He’s easy and confident, at home in his body and sure of his likes. It’s really hot. “Okay,” Youngjae says. “Good.” 

“I like you,” Junhong says, and he kisses now along Youngjae’s collarbone, teeth scraping a little. “Remember that time you had the awful hickey?” 

Youngjae nods. He remembers – two weeks of scarves and an extra fifteen minutes in makeup, thanks to some nameless boy he met in the shimmering din of a Gangnam club. He’d made up some lie to tell the guys, but he doesn’t even remember what now.

“It looked so good,” Junhong says. “I used to think about giving you a hickey in the same spot. How long it would take. If you bruised really easily.”  
He kisses that spot, sucking opened mouth and hot at Youngjae’s skin. He’s braced on his forearms, now. Their hips are pressed together. Youngjae can feel Junhong’s dick against his. He bends one leg and presses up and Junhong gasps, sharp and desperate. 

“You’ve ah … had some practice at this,” Youngjae says. His voice sounds strange through the rushing in his ears. His hands find Junhong’s back, fingertips digging into the muscle. 

“Mmmm,” Junhong says. “I’m not a kid anymore, hyung.” 

“No,” Youngjae says. “Definitely not.” 

Junhong laughs, deep in his throat. The noise buzzes against Youngjae’s skin. He wants more – more than just the rasp of Junhong’s teeth against his throat. They’re both in just boxers but that seems like two layers of cloth too many. He lifts his hips and reaches down to work the elastic waistband lower. His thighs ache. He can’t get his stupid underwear all the way off. They’re hung up around his knees. It doesn’t matter. Junhong reaches down too and then his underwear are around his pale thighs and Youngjae can see his dick.

It’s not like he’s never seen it before. They lived together for years. But that was different. Now he can reach down and wrap his hand around Junhong, feel the hot solid weight of him. He’s _big_. Youngjae shivers.

“Want you to fuck me,” he says. 

Junhong pauses. The air is cool against the wet where his mouth was. “Yeah?” 

Youngjae nods. “Not now,” he says, “but yeah.” 

Junhong kisses Youngjae, slick and open-mouthed. He drops down suddenly, so they’re chest to chest and belly to belly. Youngjae groans at the too-dry drag of Junhong’s dick against his. It hurts a little, but it feels good. He gets his hand around both of them. His wrist is at a bad angle, cramped between their bodies. It doesn’t matter. This first time with Junhong is more comfortable and easy and hot all at once than anything he can remember. 

Maybe it’s because they’ve waited for this so long, but too soon Junhong is gasping, fingers tight in Youngjae’s arms. His body goes tense and he comes all over both of their stomachs. Youngjae jerks himself frantically, through the sticky mess, his toes pressed into Junhong’s calf, and then he’s coming too, shaking, chest heaving, until he’s spent and he goes still. 

“I used to think about doing this all the time,” Junhong says. His voice is rough. “You have no idea.” 

“Too bad you waited so long.” Youngjae is a little bitter, in a delighted way. He missed out on years of awesome sex. 

“That’s okay,” Junhong says, reaching down to pat Youngjae’s dick fondly. “We can make up for lost time.” 

*****

Junhong reaches into the pan to nab a crispy bit of kimchi, and burns his fingertips.

"Ow!" He grimaces, and sucks his fingers into his mouth.

It gives Youngjae pause, but not the way it once would have. He can't get enough of Junhong, but after this morning he's good for a while.

"If you'd just wait, they'll be done in a minute."

"But hyung," Junhong says, blowing on his red fingertips. "It smells so gooooood."

Kimchi pancakes are Junhong's favorite. That's why Youngjae's making them, why he took a special trip to the grocery store to get the brand of kimchi Junhong likes best.

"You can have the first one," Youngjae says, absently. He's watching for the bubbles in the batter that tell him when it's time to flip.

"How'd you learn to cook anyway, hyung?" Junhong asks.

It's a fair question. In the old days, it was only Himchan who cooked, and then only on special occasions.

"From my mother," Youngjae says. Little bubbles pock the batter. He slides the spatula under and flips the pancake to reveal the perfectly crisp golden bottom. "After I bought this place ... after my dad died ... she thought I needed to learn how to cook if I was going to live on my own." And he'd wanted to spend time with her, although he doesn't tell Junhong that.

"Ah," Junhong says. "Your mom's a really good cook."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "That reminds me. She invited me to dinner on Tuesday and she wants you to come."

"Really?" Junhong's eyes are round. "She wants me to come?"

"Sure," Youngjae says. "You know my mom always liked you." All the moms always had a fondness for the maknae.

"Oh," Junhong says. "That's really nice of her."

The pancake is finished. Youngjae slides it out of the pan and onto the waiting plate. It steams deliciously. Junhong doesn't even wait a moment before he tears a piece off with his hands. He's sitting on the counter swinging his legs. His bare feet thud-thud-thud against the cabinet doors. His hair is a mess and he never shaved and his fingers are greasy from the food. He’s fucking beautiful. 

Youngjae wonders if it's always going to be like this, and if not always how long it will last.

"Here, hyung," Junhong says, and he holds out a piece of pancake for Youngjae to eat. His thumb lingers on Youngjae's lips. Youngjae looks up. Junhong smiles at him. Some strong electric charge seems to run down Youngjae's spine.

"You're going to make more, right?" Junhong asks. "I'm starving."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "Right away, sir." The batter sizzles as he pours it into the pan.

"I'll do the dishes," Junhong says, mouth full.

"I don't know," Youngjae says. "Do you even know how? That was always Jongup's job."

Junhong wrinkles his nose. "I do have a kitchen at home." He swallows. "I just ... don't cook very much."

Youngjae has never been to Junhong's apartment, but he saw pictures of it once in an article about the lavish and exclusive homes of the stars. "Not enough time, I imagine," he says.

Junhong shrugs. "There's time, sometimes, but I never learned how." He reaches for the last piece of pancake. "I make pretty great instant ramen, though."

"You really are Yongguk's protege, huh?" They were always paired together: the rapper line, the youngest and the oldest, the prodigies. It made good press, at least.

"Nah," Junhong says. "Yongguk hyung is ... " He waves a hand.

Youngjae laughs. "What does that mean? He's ..." He waves his hand like Junhong did.

Junhong grins. "I don't know," he says. "Yongguk hyung is just so ... certain about everything. He knows exactly what he wants to accomplish. I just wanted to be able to perform."

"Well," Youngjae says, trying hard to ignore the sudden sour twist in his belly. Junhong doesn't mean it like that, he knows. "You got your wish."

Junhong just shrugs and rests his head back against the cabinet. "You always reminded me of him, actually."

Youngjae flips the next pancake. "Me? I reminded you of Yongguk hyung?"

Junhong nods. "Sure," he says. "You're both really ... you have really definite goals, and you have high standards."

Youngjae shakes his head, amused. "Junhong, that's like ... 90% of the people who make it as idols." You don't get as far as debut unless you have high standards and concrete goals.

"Yeah," Junhong says. "But you were always both so hard on yourselves, and you never said anything about it. I felt bad for both of you."

"You didn't need to feel bad for me," Youngjae mumbles. Had it been so obvious to everyone how hard it was for him?

"Hyunggg," Junhong says. "You're doing that thing again."

"What?" Youngjae runs the spatula under the pancake to loosen the edges. "Junhong, what am I doing, other than cooking you dinner?"

"You're doing that thing where you get all quiet and sad and serious," Junhong says. His arms are behind his head now. The loose sleeves of his teeshirt slide down. "I didn't mean that you were like, suffering or anything. I just ..." He grins, and Youngjae's heart flutters and for a moment he can see not just comfortable, familiar Junhong but also the star: electric and intense and charming. "I paid a lot of attention to you, hyung."

"Oh," Youngjae says. It's warm and steamy in the kitchen, full of the smell of good things cooking. He hopes that's an adequate explanation for why his cheeks feel hot. "Well, thanks."

"You're welcome," Junhong says. "I wish I'd been brave enough to say something back then, instead of just watching."

Youngjae wishes he had been too, but that's water long since under the bridge.

"Yeah," he says. The next pancake is done. He flips it off onto the plate. "Quick, eat it before it gets cold."

*****

"I used to think about you when I jerked off." Junhong's voice is rough. His eyelashes flutter.

"What?" Youngjae swallows. The water falls hot on his skin. The air is heavy with warm steam.

"All the fucking time." Junhong grins. "I was a teenager. I used to jerk off in the shower every night."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "No kidding," he says. "I think we all did. That shower got more action than I ever did."

Junhong's eyes go wide, and for a moment he looks like his teenage self again – too naive for his age even then. "Really? Jongup didn't. I asked him. He said he thought it got boring."

Youngjae laughs. "He would." He loves Jongup, but he doesn't understand him. He doesn't really want to talk about Jongup now though, not when Junhong is naked and his bare slick skin is all within reach. "What did you think about?"

Junhong shrugs. "All kinds of stuff. I used to wonder if you did the same thing. It was hot, standing in the shower jerking off thinking about you standing in the same exact place." He blinks, and pushes his hair out of his face. "That was a good one."

"Oh," Youngjae says. He leans forward and up to kiss Junhong. "What else?"

Junhong puts his hands on Youngjae's waist. Junhong has big solid hands and Youngjae likes the way they feel. "I had this ... fantasy I guess. I would be in the shower, so hard with my hand on my dick, and you'd come in for something – to brush your teeth. I don't know. And somehow you'd be able to tell. You'd pull back the curtain and you'd see me and I would be so turned on I couldn't stop."

Youngjae swallows. He stares at the hollow of Junhong's throat. "Ah."

"You'd tease me," Junhong says. "For not being able to control myself. For being so horny all the time."

Youngjae presses his hips into Junhong's. He's half hard now. He knows Junhong can feel it. "I was too," he says, in a choked voice. "I used to ... I dreamed about you, sometimes. I felt so bad, but you were always so fucking beautiful."

"Hyung," Junhong says, quietly, and he kisses Youngjae. His hand are still on Youngjae's waist and he pulls him closer. It's so easy, like this. Youngjae worried that this part might be strange, but it's not. He's never felt strange throwing his arm around Junhong's shoulder. This is an easy comfort too, just better.

An it's not a dream any more. It's Junhong, real and in the flesh, with the scar on his knee from where he felt that time and a bit of stubble along his jaw he missed when shaving. Junhong leaning into him. Junhong’s hand wrapped around his cock. Junhong groaning his name as he comes.  
It's not a dream. It's better.

*****

"Aren't you going to get that?"

Junhong lifts his head. He glances sleepily at his cellphone, which is plugged in over in the corner. "I'll check it later," he says.

Youngjae frowns. "What if it's something important?"

"It can't be that important, hyung," Junhong says. "If it were they'd call my personal cell."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "Right."

Junhong lets his head drop back into Youngjae's lap. They had dinner, and now they are on the couch, watching television. Junhong's feet hang over the arm. It's a sleepy Thursday – no, Friday – and Youngjae honestly is glad Junhong didn't get up to take the call. He'd be glad if Junhong never got up again.

Things are going to have to change. They've spent the few days sleeping and fucking and talking and it can't just be that forever, as much as he'd like it to be.

"When do you think your company is going to know more?" Youngjae asks, because now he's afraid and he's never been able to ignore his fear. He has to dig into it, like when you get a bug bite and can't stop itching.

"Soon," Junhong says drowsily. "I was supposed to go into the recording studio on the 17th."

Youngjae doesn't even know what day it is. The 10th now, maybe? His phone is too far away for him to check.

"Are you not going to do that now?"

Junhong shrugs. "I don't know. I don't know if the company knows. I mean, they wanted me to come back one more time before I enlisted ... a farewell to the fans or something. But now I don't know."

Youngjae freezes. He knew ... of course he know that Junhong would be enlisting. But now rather than just his dongsaeng's right of passage it feels like his heart is going to be torn from his body for two years. They've only just started to figure this out. He can't wait another two years.

"Oh," he says. "Right. You were going to go in at your birthday?"

Junhong nods. "Yeah," he says. "I pushed it as long as I possibly could. The plan was at my birthday."

Youngjae nods. "I think you'd like it, maybe." He tries not to think about what Junhong enlisting would mean for him, tries instead to remember his own time in the army. "It's kind of like being a trainee was. The work isn't as hard, but everyone's on the same schedule and you get to be good friends."

Junhong nods. "Ah," he says. "Do you miss your friends from the army, hyung?"

Youngjae shakes his head. "No," he says. "I didn't make any. I’m sure you will though." Junhong has a way of making everyone like him. Youngjae just kept to himself. 

Junhong frowns. "Hyung, I don't know if I can enlist now. It's not ... they're not supposed to let gay men enlist."

Youngjae swallows. "Oh? I didn't know that."

Junhong nods. "Yeah," he says. "I guess for most guys it's not a big deal. They can hide it or not, as they choose. But everyone knows about me now."

"You still did the right thing," Youngjae says, vehement. "I mean it, Junhong. You did the right thing. I know how hard it was."

"I know, hyung," Junhong says, and he reaches down and grabs Youngjae's hand and squeezes it. "I'd like to do it though. I had always planned on doing it."

"Army?" Youngjae asks, because his stomach is unsettled. "Public service."

"Maybe even the marines," Junhong says. "I don't mind it being difficult."

"You'd probably get stationed up in the north," Youngjae says. "It's really bitter cold up there, Junhong. You know they'd give you some public service job here in Seoul if you wanted."

Junhong nods. "I know," he says. "I don't know what's going to happen right now. It's weird after having schedules for so many years, but I have no idea what's going to happen next."

Youngjae nods. He understands, even though it's not the same for him. "What ever it is, you'll be fine."

Junhong sighs, breathing out long through his nose. Then he sits up. "I'm going to go make some popcorn," he says. "We should rent a movie. Do you want to pick?"

"No," Youngjae says. "Go make the popcorn, and don't burn it. We can pick together. I'll wait for you."

*****

"Have some more, Junhong," Youngjae's mother says, and she scoops another big spoonful of stew onto his plate. He's had two already, but he smiles and nods at her. Youngjae can't blame him. His mother is an excellent cook, and she only rarely makes anything as extravagant as rib stew.

"Yes, please," he says happily. Across the table, Youngjae's brother and his wife are busy feeding the babies. Joomin is too little for solid food but Kayoung isn't. His brother cuts tiny pieces of meat and feeds them to her one at a time, coaxing and wheedling. It should be funny, but instead it just makes Youngjae's heart feel strange.

After dinner, Junhong plays with the children and Youngjae helps his mother clean.

"You don't have to," she says, frowning at him. "Shieun would help if I needed any. Go be with your friend."

"Mom," Youngjae says, "Junhong is fine. I want to help you."

She shakes her head but smiles at him. "Well, if you insist."

They do it like they did it when Youngjae was a child. He clears the dishes from the table. She puts the leftovers and side dishes into containers. She rinses the dishes clean in the sink. He puts them in the dishwasher. It feels good to be doing something so familiar.

"So," his mother says as she holds another plate under the faucet, "Junhong doesn't seem to be doing too badly."

Youngjae shakes his head. "He's not," he says. "I think ... he did the right thing."

His mother nods. "There's a lot of value in honesty. The topic came up with some of my friends from church, and they all thought he was very brave."

Youngjae nods. His throat is tight. His mother is right, but he's the dishonest one. He's never even told anyone – except Junhong. "It's not like it was when we debuted. Things are getting better, and I think they'll keep getting better if people like Junhong -" _Like me._ "-Are brave."

His mother nods. "Well," she says, "it's a very good thing of you to do so much for him, Youngjae. I know you were fond of all the boys but you especially liked Junhong, didn't you?"

Youngjae nods. He can't say anything. He's not sure what he would say.

"He's lucky to have you," his mother says, and something about her voice makes him wonder if she suspects.

But there's no way. She still asks him when he'll get married and give her more grandchildren. There's no way he can tell her.

"I'm just glad it worked out so that I was around to help him," Youngjae says. His voice is thick. "Hopefully his company will decide what they want to do and he'll be able to go back to his place soon."

"Your company," his mother says, a bit reproachful.

It _was_ his company, anyway. "Yes, mother."

She sighs. "You need to decide what you want to do too. You know your brother is holding the job for you."

"I know," he says, a little too quickly. "I already talked to him about it. He told me to take the time I needed to be sure."

"He's smart," she says. "You should be sure. You're an adult now, Youngjae, and you should do things that you believe in."

He nods.

"Here," she says, "you take all of this home." It's everything boxed up neatly and tied in a bag – even the leftover stew.

"No," he says. "Mom, please. We can't take all of this. I know all of this food must have cost –"

She narrows her eyes. "Take it," she says. "I'm still your mother, and I want you to have something good to eat once in a while."

He opens his mouth.

"Just take it," she says. "Don't argue with me. Besides, you know your brother paid for all of this anyway."

He nods, defeated.

In the living room, Junhong is on the floor playing peek-a-boo with the baby. He's flat on his stomach with his long legs sprawled out behind him. He covers his face with both hands and then flips them open. The baby gurgles happily. Shieun and Youngjae’s brother watch smiling. Kayoung flips through the big book of mythical creatures Junhong got her as a present. Youngjae's mother sits down near Junhong. She reaches down and taps him on the shoulder to say something. Youngjae doesn't catch the words, but it makes Junhong smile and the baby babbles and claps his hands together.

Youngjae's heart bunches up tight. They look like they're all family, and he wants that so bad. But they're not, and he's not sure they ever can be, and he’s too afraid to find out. What would his mother say? What would his hyung? Would he ruin them too, by trying to make things better?

He doesn’t know. Junhong’s face is bright and delighted as the baby gurgles at him. It hurts too badly to watch and not be sure, so he goes in the kitchen to start fixing the coffee.

*****

"I got the mail."

Junhong throws it on the table in the kitchen. It adds to a stack that's been growing there.

Youngjae hasn't been home a full weeks yet. He doesn't know how people knew to start sending him mail again. There are probably things he needs to look at – bills, at least – but he can't bring himself to quite yet.

"Is it raining out?"

The weather turned bad overnight. They laid in bed together and listened to the rain. They hadn't gone to sleep until very late, but Youngjae is not tired.

"No," Junhong says. "It's colder, but I think the sun might come out."

"Ah," Youngjae says. He's lying on his back on the couch. It's dirty, littered with little bits of the rice crackers Junhong was eating last night. The whole apartment is starting to feel stale and too small. "We should go somewhere."

"Where?" Junhong looks up. His wariness is understandable.

Youngjae shrugs. "We could do some something touristy. You can wear a mask, and it's cold enough that you can wear a hat too."

It's not that strange that they have to think about disguising Junhong. He's been famous for a long time. This is just a new type of notoriety.

"Hmmm," Junhong says. "Maybe. If we don't go anywhere too crowded."

"We could go to Namsan and ride the cable car," Youngjae says. It's been a long time since he's done that.

"I said not too crowded," Junhong says, shaking his head.

"We could go to Bukhansan," Youngjae says. "I went there with my hyung, and with school a few times."

"I've never gone," Junhong says.

"Really?" Youngjae is surprised. "I thought everyone went on a field trip there."

Junhong shrugs. "I didn't have the money for the trip fees, hyung." He grins. "Besides, I would rather have been practicing."

Youngjae shakes his head. "You always were crazy."

Junhong nods. "Yup," he says. "Let's do it. Let's go."

It takes them a little while to get ready. Youngjae has to dig out his raincoat and his boots. Junhong only has sneakers, but his feet are bigger. The sneakers will have to do. It's nearly eleven by the time they get out the door, but it's a Thursday and people are working. The streets are quiet. The subways are empty except for householders doing their shopping. They get off and catch the bus to the park entrance. Junhong keeps his head down, trying to avoid attention in the crowd of hawkers and sportsmen.

They pay the entrance fee. Rather than head right up to the peak they take a side trail. The whole point is to avoid the crowds. They don't really talk much. Junhong has a long stride and Youngjae needs to take a step and a half for every one of his. He's not in the kind of shape he was when they danced twelve hours a day. He's breathing hard before they've reached the top of the first bridge.

"Let's take a break," he says.

Junhong smirks. "Tired?" He's still an idol; he's in shape.

Youngjae scowls. "Yeah," he says. "Don't be cruel to an old man." He pulls the water bottle out of his backpack and takes a long drink. The sun never quite broke through the thin grey layer of cloud. The air is still and cool, and a little bit of mist still hangs in the low places.

He passes the bottle to Junhong, who unhooks the mask from behind his ear and drinks. "This was a good idea," he says. "I like it here."

"I still can't believe you've never been here. You've been in Seoul for what? Fifteen years?" It's strange to think it's been that long. It's strange to think he's known Junhong for almost half his life.

"Just about," Junhong says. "When would I have come out here though, hyung? When did we ever have any free time?"

They never did. They'd never wanted it. Youngjae hadn't minded either, not until the trajectory of events changed and things were on a downward arc. Only then was it hard to work as hard as they needed to work.

And Junhong's kept it up, all this time.

"Sorry," he says.

"For what?" Junhong kicks at the ground, and a pebble goes rolling off down the hill.

"Just for ... you know. How hard everything was." Youngjae feels bad, even though it wasn't his fault. Even though Junhong knew exactly what he was getting into (or as much as any of them knew, at least)

Junhong shrugs. "It doesn't really matter now," he says. "Can't go back." He puts his hands on his hips and arches his back. "I didn't .... It's not like I wanted to sabotage myself or anything. I don't mind working hard. This is the first time I've ever had a real break, though."

Youngjae shakes his head. "You could have just told them you wanted some time off, Junhong."

Junhong shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "I know that, hyung. It wasn’t that bad though. It was never like that first year."

Youngjae laughs. "Nothing has ever been like that first year." They barely knew what sleep was. None of them were wise enough to care, not even Yongguk.

Junhong sighs though. "If I take time off, all the people who help me and work with me have to take time off too, or find a new job. I ... didn't want that to happen to them. They help me so much." His words have the rehearsed quality of a press release. They all learned to talk that way.

"You're too nice," Youngjae says, after a while. Somewhere lower down and far off children are screaming happily.

Junhong shrugs. "They all helped me so much. They've been with me for a long time."

Youngjae nods. Does Junhong mean that as a slight? Is he trying to remind Youngjae that the managers and stylists were there with him after the group was done? After Youngjae left?

No, probably not.

They keep going. The path crosses little streams. The trees are just leafing. Everything is bright green against the gloom of the day. The air is refreshingly cool. They pass a few other hikers, but nobody pays much attention to them. Junhong doesn't even bother to keep his mask on.

They've hiked two or three hours and they're not at the peak yet. Junhong keeps stopping to look at something off the side of the path: a plant he doesn't recognize, some mushrooms growing in the moist rot of a fallen tree, an outcropping he thinks looks like a wave. It doesn't matter, really. They have no schedule to keep. But the sky is growing darker like the sun's been cowed, and the wind is picking up. The leaves shiver on their branches.

"Maybe we should go back," Youngjae says. He didn't think to bring an umbrella. Junhong doesn’t have a raincoat. 

Junhong shakes his head. Shading his eyes he looks up. "We must be nearly at the top now. It won't take too much longer, hyung."

So they keep going. The clouds bump into each other and pile up, and the wind is suddenly warm and out of the east.

The rain comes fast and cold. The big drops hurtle down like bullets. The wind gusts, and somewhere far away thunder rumbles unhappily.

Junhong stares, wide eyed. "What should we do?"

Far away down the mountain, Youngjae can see the shadow of the city behind the veil of rain. It could be a thousand miles and a hundred years away. The rain is cold but he's seen storms like this. They blow up suddenly and then they're gone.

"Let's just keep going." He tucks his phone deeper into his pocket. He'd be annoyed if that got ruined.

Junhong frowns. "Is it safe?"

Youngjae shakes his head. "I don't know."

They keep going. Youngjae takes off his coat and wraps his and Junhong’s phones in it and lets the rain plaster his tee shirt to his back. His hair is wet and rain is on his cheeks, on his lips, on his hands. Junhong pulls his jacket over his head but it's no use. He's soaked too, and his tee shirt pulls up and Youngjae can see the damp gleaming pale skin of his back.

The little streams that cross their path are angry, frothing and full. The water trickles from the leaves with a sound like a chorus of a thousand thousand tiny frogs. Then the path turns back on itself for a moment, and passes close to a sheer wall of rock that leans out a little bit.

It's not shelter, exactly, but it's blocked from the wind. Junhong stops there, wiping the water from his face.

"Sorry," he says. "We should have gone back."

Youngjae shakes his head. "I like it," he says. "It makes it seem like we’re the only two people around for miles and miles. Like in those stories where someone gets lost in the mountains and ends up in fairy land or something."

Junhong smiles. "Maybe we'll go back own and the entire city will be gone."

"Maybe," Youngjae says. His throat tightens. He could think of worse fates. "Maybe we'll go back and everything will have been a dream."

"Everything?"

Youngjae shrugs. "We'll wake up in bed, in the morning, after falling asleep while our moms read us bedtime stories."

"I wouldn't like that," Junhong says. "But then I'd get to do it all again, I guess. And I could tell you sooner. That would be good."

His smile is sweet and unburdened and Youngjae's heart hurts. He can't think of anything to do but reach up and put his hand on Junhong's neck and pull him down into a kiss. He tastes like clean and sharp, like the rain.

The weather passes. The rain slows and then stops. The clouds shred themselves into tatters and the blue sky finally peeks through. At last even the sun shows her face, and everything is wet and glittering and fresh.

They’re still damp when they reach the peak. Youngjae's sneakers squelch with every step. Junhong's wet hair hangs in his face. The trails are empty and the day is bright now. It's not a hard climb, and when they do get to the top they can see everything. The rain washed the sky clean of smog. The city sits glittering in the valley and beyond that, very far, the sea gleams. A few clouds hang around the heads of the mountains like truant ghosts.

They don't say anything. Youngjae feels very, very far away from everything, so far that he has to grab Junhong's hand. Junhong lets him, smiling, and then weaves their fingers together and squeezes. A little of the strange tightness in Youngjae's chest loosens.

"We could stay up here," he says. "Become hermits. People would bring us food in exchange for our sagely wisdom."

"Hmm," Junhong says, "but would they bring the brand of kimchi that I like? I'm very picky, you know."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "I know," he says. "Better not risk it then."

"Maybe next time," Junhong says quietly, like he's thinking of something else.

"Maybe," Youngjae says. He brushes his wet hair out of his face. "Well, I guess we better start going back down."

*****

Someone is knocking on the door.

Youngjae sighs. There are very few people who know his address, and even fewer who have key to the outside of the building but not the access code to his door. Maybe it's just some door to door salesman or something. Those have been coming back in vogue – part of a wave of retro nostalgia. Maybe it's someone handing out tracts.

Maybe if he pulls the hood of Junhong's worn hoodie up and pretends to be asleep the person pounding on his door will get the hint sooner rather than later and go away.

He sets his book down on the table and pulls up the hood. The sweatshirt is too big on him and it smells like the warm spicy aftershave Junhong uses.

The pounding on the door continues.

"Ughhh." Youngjae gets to his feet. "Hold on."

He looks through the peephole in case ... what? It's a very polite robber? But the person is standing off to the side and the lighting is bad and he can't really see anyway.

Probably just someone trying to get him to sign up for a new mobile plan.

He turns over the lock and opens the door.

"Junhong, what the fuck do you think you're doing? Kid, I know this is hard but you can't just ignore ..." The tirade ends prematurely.

Youngjae is very clearly not Junhong.

"Hyung? Seokgu hyung? What are you doing here?" Youngjae never gave anyone at the company his address. He hasn't seen Seokgu in ... probably since the group went on hiatus. Afterwards, he worked with Zelo, who was higher profile and busier too.

"Youngjae?"

Youngjae nods. "Come inside."

It's not that Youngjae wants to invite him in, exactly, but it would be rude to keep him standing in the hall and he never harbored any real ill will towards Seokgu. He only did what he was being told.

"Youngjae," Seokgu says. "When did you get back?"

Youngjae shrugs. "A week ago? Ten days?" Everything has run together since then. It feels much, much longer."

"Wow," Seokgu says. "My little baby is all grown up." He grins the same goofy grin he always has and pulls Youngjae into a hug.

It reminds Youngjae, just a little, of when he was 18, 19, even 20 and he was confident that nothing so bad would ever happen that Manager hyung and the company couldn't figure it out.

"You still look like you're twenty though," Seokgu says, wrinkling his nose. "What kind of luck is that?"

Youngjae shrugs again, uneasily. He doesn't like his baby face. He wishes he looked older. He’s not a kid any more. "Hyung, how are you?"

Seokgu sits down in the chair. Youngjae sits on the couch and wraps his hands in his too-long sleeves.

"Good," Seokgu says. "I'm good. The girls are four and two now ... Did you even know? Hyejin and I got married five years ago. I've got two daughters now. They're amazing little terrors. Yongguk spoils them rotten of course, even though he’s got the pair of his own, and Junhong is like the best big brother ever ..." He pulls up pictures on his phone.

"I knew. Himchan told me," Youngjae says, quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't write or say anything, hyung."

He feels stupid and small, like a child who misbehaved out of petulance and was caught.

Seokgu stares at him for a moment. "Hey, it's fine, kid. You can get to know them now that you're back." He looks around. "So ... this is your place?"

"Yeah," Youngjae says. "I needed someplace out here for when ... I was working with my brother, for a while."

"Ah," Seokgu says. "Are you going to go back to doing that?"

Youngjae shrugs. Seokgu knows him too well for him to lie.

"Youngjae, you know if you wanted to the company would ..."

"I'm done with all that, hyung," Youngjae says, and saying it makes his chest go tight even though it's been years since he's so much as sang karaoke.

"Hey, give me a second to get my words out, kid. I was going to say, they're always looking for people who know the industry. I don't mean that you have to ..." He doesn't say it. He knows how hard it was for Youngjae. They all knew. "We have some new teams coming up and they need people on board to help them out."

Youngjae tries to imagine what it would be like, shepherding a bunch of unschooled teenagers through demanding schedules. Not easy. Not very rewarding. "Hmm," he says. "Thank you for the offer, hyung. I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet."

"Okay," Seokgu says, and then he turns his phone over a few times in his hand. "Keep it in mind, though. There’ll always be something for you.” He pauses and frowns. “Youngjae, is Junhong here?"

"No," Youngjae says, and it feels like a betrayal. Seokgu took care of them – of him – for such a long, long time. "Not now, anyway."

"But he's been staying here?" Seokgu sighs. "Fine, that's fine. I ... Youngjae, he hasn't been answering our calls. Nobody can get in touch with him. I had no idea where he was."

Youngjae bites his lip. "So ... how did you find this place, then?"

"We had someone looking for him at Himchan's house," Seokgu says. "They saw him there last night and followed him back here. Sorry, kid. I didn't know this was your place." He looks a little ashamed.

"It's okay," Youngjae says. "Um. I think Junhong just went out for a run."

Seokgu nods. "Okay, that's fine. It's quiet here." He shakes his head, smiling. "The kid is smart. This is a good place to lay low."

Youngjae nods. "That's why I live here."

"Ah," Seokgu says. "Right." His phone buzzes then. He looks down to check the message and sighs. "Listen, can you just tell him to call me when he comes back? Nobody's mad at him. We all want to help him. Hey, you know me, Youngjae. You know I just want to help him. I don't know why he won't return my calls."

"I'll tell him, hyung," Youngjae says. He can’t help but think Junhong is ignoring the company’s calls because of _him_. It’s not an easy thought.

Seokgu stands up. "Thanks," he says. He smiles. "It was good to see you too. I've missed you, kid. You need to come over and meet the girls sometime."

"I will," Youngjae says. "Sorry I didn't before, hyung."

Seokgu claps him on the shoulder. "No more apologizing. There's plenty of time now." He pulls Youngjae into another hug. "Just make sure Junhong calls me, okay?"

*****

 

"So," Youngjae says, fishing through his cartoon of jjampong for a shrimp. "Someone came here looking for you today."

Junhong pauses mid bite, mouth full of noodles. "Someone came here looking for _me_?"

Youngjae nods. This broth isn't spicy enough, and the squid is rubbery. They need to remember not to order from this place again. "Yeah," he says. "Seokgu hyung came here looking for you."

Junhong swallows his noodles all in one go. "He came here? How ... Hyung, did you tell him where you live?"

Youngae shakes his head. He's staring down at the carton. The grease is soaking through at the corners. It doesn't look appetizing at all. "No, Junhong," he says, and it's weird and disorienting but suddenly he feels like he's talking to his dongsaeng again. "He followed you. From Himchan's last night."

"Shit." Junhong puts down his food. "They had me followed?"

"He said you weren't answering your phone calls."

"I wasn't ..." He frowns, brow creased. "I wasn't ignoring them. I was just busy. You know. With you."

It feels good to hear him say that. It makes Youngjae feel warm and makes his insides fizz. But. “You could have taken a few minutes to answer their calls, Junhong. It’s important.” 

Junhong frowns. “I was going to,” he says. “I know it’s important. It’s _my_ career.” 

“I know,” Youngjae says, setting his own food down. “It’s scary, Junhong, but you can’t just ignore it until you …” 

Junhong narrows his eyes. “Ignore it? Ignore what? I’ve been doing this for thirteen years. I’m not ignoring anything.” 

“Except your management’s phone calls.” Youngjae’s not angry. It’s weird. He _wasn’t_ angry at least, but now he thinks he might be. Junhong has _everything_ and he’s going to mess it up because he’s scared to face the consequences of his actions. “That’s …” 

“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” Junhong says. “I’m not ignoring anything.” He stands up, suddenly, and grabs his food. “I’m done.” 

“Me too,” Youngjae says, frowning. He takes his own carton, and gathers up the utensils and dirty napkins. In the kitchen, Junhong puts the leftovers in the fridge. Youngjae rinses the chopsticks and puts them by the sink to dry. 

“Do you want a beer?” Junhong asks. 

Youngjae nods. 

Junhong takes two bottles from the fridge and pops off the caps. Youngjae can’t do that, not even with twist-offs. He wonders how Junhong learned. He rarely used to drink, even after he was old enough. 

He takes the beer that Junhong hands him. “You should call him tomorrow. Seokgu hyung, I mean. He was worried.” 

Junhong takes a long sip of his beer. “I know,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know he’s worried. I’m going to call tomorrow.” 

“Good,” Youngjae says. He rubs his thumb around the mouth of the bottle. He’s not sure he believes Junhong. “It’s gonna be scary, Junhong, but you need to just deal with it and …” 

Junhong sets his bottle down on the counter. It rings, loud. “Just deal with it?” His eyes are puffy. They didn’t sleep much the night before. “What are you going to do, hyung?” 

“Huh? Why would I call Seokgu, Junhong? I haven’t …” 

“No,” Junhong says, and he puts both hands on the counter and leans forward. The veins in his forearms pop. “I mean, you’re sitting here telling me I can’t ignore things and it’s scary but I’ve got to deal with it. What are you going to do? Go work for your brother again?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” Youngjae says. “It hasn’t been two weeks for me yet, either.” It seems surprising it’s been so short a time. The army seems longer ago. The long, dull hours and all that drab khaki clothing are distant memories.  
Junhong rolls his eyes. It’s slow, flickering just beneath his familiar round features, but Youngjae can see the spark in him that makes his fans scream. He’s not just talented. There’s something dangerous about him, sometimes. “Hasn’t been two weeks? Hyung, it’s been years. Do you think I’m stupid? We all knew.” 

“What?” Youngjae sets his beer down. He swallows. “You all knew _what_?” 

“That you ran away,” Junhong says. 

Youngjae stares at the mean wrinkle in Junhong’s nose. He wonders if he heard wrong. “You … I didn’t run anywhere,” he says. “I was always right here.” 

Junhong rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says. “You didn’t talk to me for three years. You didn’t talk to Jongup and barely returned Daehyun’s calls. You stayed in touch with Himchan only because he made you.” He takes another sip of his beer. “How long has it been since you talked to Yongguk? Five years? Longer?” 

Youngjae’s stomach hurts and there’s a weird rushing in his ears, like he’s underwater. “I wasn’t … you were all busy,” he said, slowly. He curls his hand around the bottle. “And I was too. It’s not like my job with my brother was a joke, Junhong. I worked hard. And … and then I enlisted. It’s not like I could come see you then. How could I come see you then?” 

“Hey,” Junhong says, and there’s a harsh bite to his voice that makes the ache in Youngjae’s stomach turn to ice. “Hey! I missed you.” The light over table is going to burn out; it’s flickering ever so slightly. “You think it was easy for me?”

“Junhong,” Youngjae says, and even he can hear the alarmed, needy note in his voice. “I wasn’t … you were so busy all the time, too. I wasn’t … Yongguk hyung was in France that whole year. How was I going to visit him? I knew how busy you were. I didn’t want to bother you. I wasn’t … you could have called me too.” 

His words are coming apart. He doesn’t know what else to say. What is he supposed to do? It’s not like he planned to avoid them all; it just happened. People get older and they move on and their lives change. Sometimes – like with he and Junhong – they reconnect. Sometimes though those old friendships end, not violently, but slowly, evaporating away until there’s not a trace left and the past is just the dry past. 

Junhong closes his eyes. “You wouldn’t have bothered me,” he says quietly. “I was alone all the time. I missed you and you were too scared to even call me.” 

“I wasn’t scared,” Youngjae says. Angry and definitely bitter. Jongup and Daehyun, Himchan and Yongguk, and most of all Junhong; they all had their successes accumulate, piling one on top of each other, until it seemed like they were far out of Youngjae’s reach. Youngjae had waited patiently for so long and when he had his chance he just screwed it up. How could he not be a little bitter? What was he supposed to say to them after that? “I was just …” It sounds so stupid and childish now. He doesn’t know how to explain.

Junhong breathes out. He drains his bottle, and puts it in the bin under the sink, and then opens the fridge to get another. The bottles rattle as he pulls the drawer open. Youngjae feels shaky and a little unwell. The corner of the label on his bottle is coming off. He pulls it off all the way, and folds the wet paper into increasingly smaller squares. 

“I didn’t understand,” Junhong says. His eyes are dim and downcast. “I was mad at you for a long time. I didn’t understand how you thought that your stupid album could make any difference to me. But …” He pauses, and when he starts speaking again. “Now I’ve screwed up too and I get it. It’s scary.” 

“You didn’t,” Youngjae says, ignoring the pang of hurt. It wasn’t a stupid album. But comforting Junhong is an automatic reflex. “Everything is going to be okay. You were brave.” 

“I don’t know,” Junhong says. “I really don’t know. I might have messed everything up. But …” He shrugs, and then laughs. “Maybe your brother can give me a job too.” 

“Junhong …” Youngjae wants to promise that things will work out, but Junhong knows those words are empty and he does too. How many times was he told that things would be fine? The concept is good, the sales will pick up, the fans will support you … all of that was empty and pointless, paling in comparison to the loud insistent thrum of failure he heard everywhere. “If you needed a job, of course my brother would hire you.” 

Junhong nods. He licks his lips. “Thanks,” he says. “Hyung, thank you, but I don’t want to work in an office. I don’t want to put a suit on and stare at a computer all day.” He spins the bottle around in his hand. “You loved music so much. As much as I did or Daehyun hyung did or Yongguk hyung did. As much as any of us.” 

Youngjae nods, because he did. He does. He never became an idol for the fame or whatever. He just wanted to sing. “I guess,” he says. 

Junhong nods. “You did,” he says. “I know it must have sucked when your album didn’t do well. I’m sorry.” 

Youngjae nods. He doesn’t know what to say and his throat is suddenly tight. He never really talked about it before with any of them; too proud, maybe, and too ashamed. And they really were all busy, promoting on their own. There’s no reason to start talking about it now. He really doesn’t want to cry in front of Junhong. He’s cried about it often enough on his own, feeling stupid and petty and like a little child. 

Junhong nods too. “Hyung, I didn’t mean to get mad at you earlier but … I don’t want you to be unhappy.” His voice is soft and unsure. “I don’t want you to go work for your brother again and be sad and never talk to us.” 

Youngjae shakes his head. “I’m not … Junhong, I love you.” 

Junhong frowns. “What?” 

Youngjae shrugs. It didn’t seem like such a big deal to say it because he’s known it for so long, but now he’s embarrassed. “I love you,” he says. “I’m not … I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. All of you did so well and I screwed up and I felt … stupid and untalented and ashamed, but I’m not going to leave now.” 

“You didn’t screw up,” Junhong says. “I wasn’t lying. I loved your album and I don’t know why it didn’t do well but … you’re amazing, hyung.” 

Youngjae shrugs. 

“You are,” Junhong says, firmly. “You are amazing.” He puts his beer bottle down and steps across the narrow kitchen and wraps his arms around Youngjae’s waist, pulling him close. It feels good to be held. For a while they just stand there. Youngjae’s heart is beating fast and he’s nervous and guilty because Junhong is right in a way. He may not have gone anywhere but he did ran away when Junhong needed him. 

“You can go work with your brother,” Junhong says, after a while. “I don’t care. I just want you to be happy.” 

“Thank you,” Youngjae says. “I … don’t know.” He wonders if Junhong realizes how frightening the thought of trying again is.

“I’m going to call Seokgu tomorrow,” Junhong says. He pulls Youngjae closer still, like he’s afraid he might bolt. “And you … You should call Yongguk hyung. I think … I really think he wants to talk to you.” 

Youngjae nods. He doesn’t hate Yongguk, and misses him often. But it’s Yongguk he worries he disappointed most deeply and Yongguk he thinks may have seen the flaws in him all along, long before Youngjae saw them himself. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll call him.” 

For Junhong, he’ll do it. 

*****

Everything is safer, under the blankets.

It's not morning yet. The alarm hasn't gone off. But they are awake. Junhong butts his head into Youngjae's bare chest, and Youngjae puts a hand on the back of his neck.

It's warm. Stifling, even.

"You're going to call him today," Youngjae says. "Right?"

Junhong nods.

"Good," Youngjae says. "You should. Junhong, you've worked too hard to just give up."

"I'm not scared of giving up," Junhong says. "Hyung ... I ..." His voice is choked, a whisper spilling through the dark space. "I don't want to leave you."

Youngjae doesn't want to be left behind. Not again.

"What if they tell me to tour?" Junhong asks. "What if I have to enlist?"

Youngjae closes his eyes. Could he do it? Could he be alone again, for that long? "Then I would wait here until you got out," he says, with a confidence he does not feel.

"I don't know if they'll let me," Junhong says softly, "but if I don't, everyone will hate me."

"Hey," Youngjae says, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "It's not your fault."

Junhong nods. His nose nudges Youngjae's chest. "I don't want to leave." In the dark stillness under the blankets, it seems absurd to think they'd ever be apart. Youngjae's hand on Junhong's wrist. Their knees bumping. The quiet soft mingled heat. "I don't want to leave you."

Youngjae closes his eyes. "I don't want you to leave."

There. The impasse. The thing neither of them can control.

"Maybe," Youngjae says. "Maybe the company will figure it out. Maybe you won't be allowed."

Junhong shakes his head. "I didn't want to be a martyr," he says. "I didn’t want special treatment. I just wanted to stop lying."

Youngjae nods. Does the reason matter, now? Does it matter if Junhong was driven by some pure impulse of spirit or if it were some exceptionally underhand and clever publicity stunt?

It doesn't.

Youngjae loves him. He'll go or he'll stay. It's not something either of them can control, really. Youngjae will keep loving him. 

"Doesn't matter," Youngjae says. "Doesn't matter. If you go, I'll wait."

Junhong presses close, as close as he can get. "Good," he says. “Me too.” 

*****

"Hello?"

"Hyung," Youngjae says. "Yongguk hyung. Uh. It's me. Youngjae."

"Youngjae," Yongguk says slowly. "How are you? Himchan told me you came home."

"I'm good," Youngjae says. "'m okay, anyway. Hyung, how are you? How are your girls?"

"Ah, they're good," Yongguk says. "Yoonji is almost four now."

"Wow," Youngjae says, and it burns. He’s missed so much.

"You should come and visit," Yongguk says. "I've told them a lot about their Uncle Youngjae."

Always the light touch, from Yongguk. He'd ruled with neither the carrot nor the whip. He'd ruled with guilt instead, and the technique has grown no less effective.

It's not like Youngjae meant to miss so much, anyway. He wasn’t avoiding them out of spite. He was just … ashamed. "Yeah," he says. "I'd like that."

"Youngjae," Yongguk says. "How are you?"

Youngjae is tired and sad and nervous and very much in love. "I'm fine," he says.

"Good," Yongguk says. "Himchan told me ..."

"What?" Youngjae isn't a child any more, and he doesn't need to be babysat. His mistakes are his own, and his apologies are as well.

"He said you were fine, actually," Yongguk says.

"Oh," Youngjae says. There's a moment of silence and then he says. "Junhong and I ... we're ... "

"Ah," Yongguk says. "Finally, huh?"

It's like a breath of freezing air, the way it makes his lungs hurt. Was he the only one who didn't realize? "You knew?"

Yongguk is quiet, but Youngjae knows he's smiling. "I paid a lot of attention to everything."

"Oh," Youngjae says.

"Hey," Yongguk says, more quickly than he would have before. Maybe parenthood is the cause of this new hastiness. "I think it's a good thing."

"You do?" Youngjae tries not to think how much it sounds like a father's blessing.

"Yeah," Yongguk says. "You and Junhong were always good for each other. You treated him well, and he always liked you."

Youngjae nods. "Hyung," he says. "Maybe ... I could come see you?"

He misses Yongguk now, as suddenly and intensely as a sinkhole opening up in his chest. No matter what, back then, he'd been able to count on Yongguk.

"Of course," Yongguk says. "Youngjae, you can come here any time. The girls are excited to meet you."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "Okay. Well. I'm excited to meet them too."

“Good,” Yongguk says. He pauses. “I missed you, Youngjae.”

Youngjae closes his eyes. He’s _not_ going to cry. “Missed you too, hyung.

****** 

"I give up!" Junhong says. There is dirt on his knees, and his hair is slick against neck. "Hyung, I give up!"

Youngjae leans forward, hands braced on his thighs. He's tired too but – "I thought we were playing 'till ten?"

Junhong drops to the ground. His long legs stick out at odd angles. He is in good shape – but he's never been good at soccer. He's playing only because he knows Youngjae likes it. "You're winning seven to one, hyung." He shades his eyes with his hand. "Let's just call it a game."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, and he sits down next to Junhong. "But you're still buying me dinner."

Junhong pokes him in the side. "I was going to buy you dinner anyway."

Youngjae shrugs. "Well, now that I've kicked your ass, you can buy me a drink, too."

Junhong rolls his eyes. "It's not fair," he says. "You practiced in the army and I haven't had any time to play at all."

Youngjae takes a long pull from the water bottle and then tosses it to Junhong. "Practice, then, and we can have a rematch."

"What do I get if I win?"

"A kiss," Youngjae says, smirking.

Junhong shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I want something special. You'd give me that anyway."

It's mid morning and the sky is bright. It feels like spring again, with the bright green warm smell in the air and the clean cool air smooth against their bare legs. There aren't many people around, not in this little park with its shabby soccer pitch. There's nobody paying attention.

Youngjae leans over and kisses Junhong, quick, just catching the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he says, "I would."

He can't stop grinning. Junhong grins back.

*****

"Here," Junhong says, "and here." He hands Youngjae a plastic take-out bag and a bunch of flowers wrapped in plastic and tissue paper.

"What are these for?" Youngjae doesn't recognize them, but they're pretty, with pale pink petals that are feathery and translucent in the light.

Junhong shrugs. "Nothing," he says. "Just you."

It fans that glowing ember in Youngjae's heart. "Oh," he says. "Thanks. Is it still raining out?"

Junhong shakes his head. "Not really," he says, but his hair is damp and water beads on the shoulders of his trench coat. He takes off his shoes and coats and shakes his head. "Well, just a little."

In the kitchen Youngjae cuts the flowers and arranges them in a cup while Junhong takes the sushi out of the boxes and arranges it on a plate. Everything feels small, closed in. Outside it's raining and the light is a strange green color, but the kitchen is clean and warm. The light gleams brightly off the tiled back splash. The clock over the oven ticks steadily.

"How did the meeting go?" Youngjae asks quietly, coming up behind Junhong and putting a hand on his waist. 

Today Junhong went to meet with the CEO of his company. Youngjae offered to go along, even though the CEO of Junhong's company had been the CEO of Youngjae's company once and things hadn't ended on the best of terms between them.

For Junhong, he would have gone, but Junhong just smiled and thanked him for the offer and had gone alone.

"Fine," Junhong says, sneaking the end piece of one of the spicy tuna rolls.

"Fine, as in ...?"

"He was angry that I didn't tell them first," Junhong says, mouth full. "But he understands why I did it. And, hyung, he said it doesn't matter to him." His eyes are downcast. "They're not going to cancel my contract or ..."

"Of course not," Youngjae says brusquely. "Junhong, they'd be idiots to do that. They'd go bankrupt without you."

Junhong just nods. "They said that people are sympathetic. They said ... they want me to do an interview."

"An interview?" The flowers look nice. Youngjae decides that even though they are beautiful he deserves some of the credit. He did arrange them. Maybe that's his talent, only too belatedly making itself known.

"Healing Camp," Junhong says. Lee Kyung-kyu doesn't host any more, but it's still on the air, all these years later. There's ever been a shortage of scandal-tainted celebrities needing absolution.

"Ahh," Youngjae says. "I see."

"They want me to tell the truth," Junhong says, "and explain why I did it. I'm going to go back to the office tomorrow so we can start going over the questions."

Youngjae sets the flowers down at the end of the table, and picks up his own chopsticks. Junhong's already eaten half the dragon roll. "That sounds like a good plan."

Junhong shrugs. "I guess," he says. "The comeback ... the album I was supposed to release in the fall ... they said as long as the response is good, I can still do it."

"Ah," Youngjae says, ignoring the sharp needling pain his heart. "Good."

Junhong nods. "I didn't tell them ..."

"Hmm?"

"I didn't tell them about us, hyung." Junhong stares at his plate. "I wanted to be ... I told them I would be honest ... but I wanted to ask you first. Because it involves you too."

It's scary, honestly. The thought of being back in the spotlight makes Youngjae's skin crawl all pins and needles. But he love Junhong. "You can tell them," he says. He keeps his tone light. "It's not like I'm a celebrity any more. Nobody is going to care."

Junhong makes a tiny unhappy noise, but maybe he knows already when it's better not to push Youngjae. Or maybe he's known that for a very long time.

"Tell them," Youngjae says, sounding braver than he feels. "It's good that you want to be honest. Tell them everything. It's fine, Junhong."

Junhong reaches for his hand, and takes it, and squeezes. "Thanks, hyung," he says. "Really. Thank you."

*****

Youngjae is restless. It doesn't seem possible that he could be missing Junhong already. It's only been three hours since he left.

But there's nothing on the television, and nothing to read. He missed two years of ridiculous dramas, two years of movies, two years of everything; there should be plenty to catch up on. It's all totally uninterested. He wonders how Junhong's meeting is going and what time he'll be home and what they'll do that evening, even though it doesn't matter because he'd be happy to do anything.

He's in love, is the thing. It's not quite as heart-shaking as it was when he was twenty and everything – every glance, every brush of hands – felt like it would blow him apart but it ebbs and sometimes the tide is high and he feels so happy he can hardly stand it.

But there are empty times too.

Like right now. Alone, in sweatpants and a dirty tee shirt, he's lying on the couch. The protagonist in the drama re-run walks down a rainy alleyway. The orange light glitters on the wet asphalt like sequins. Youngjae's not interested. Some things don't change.

He needs something to do, but he doesn't want to do anything. He could call his brother or visit his mother or even go see Himchan, but the thought of making any of those things happens seems like too much trouble.

The sun is warm, slanting through the blinds. He rolls over onto his stomach and buries his head under the pillow and he wishes he could just fall back to sleep, but he doesn't think that will happen.

He reaches for his phone.

_I hope it's going okay_

He waits a moment. There's no response. It's stupid to expect one. Junhong is in a meeting. He's busy. He's ...

This is how it's always going to be, Youngjae thinks, and then he feels dumb and stupid and selfish and small. He doesn't have any right to Junhong's time. What he does have is a gift. It feels greedy and foolish to expect anything more.

Dumb. He sits up, and puts his phone on the table, face down.

He needs to find something to do with himself. That shouldn't be as frightening a prospect as it is.

*****

There’s no set pattern. They don’t have one way they do things. Youngjae loves when Junhong fucks him hard, with his head on a pillow and his ass in the air. The sensation is so overwhelming there’s no time to think. Junhong’s grip is so firm on his hips that there are little round bruises on Youngjae’s skin the next day. It’s almost too much, and when Junhong rakes his fingernails down Youngjae’s back, red stripes between his shoulder blades (“Be a little rough,” Youngjae had said. “Yeah?” Junhong’s smirk was telling. “Okay”) Youngjae trembles and shakes and comes without even touching himself. 

Tonight though one of Junhong’s long legs is wrapped around Youngjae’s waist. His heel presses insistent into the small of Youngjae’s back, urging him deeper in. Youngjae’s forehead rests against Junhong’s cheek. Junhong’s dick presses into his stomach every time he pushes his hips fractionally forward. Youngjae doesn’t want to move, though. He doesn’t want to breath. He doesn’t even want to come. He just wants to stay this close to Junhong -- close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the almost invisible freckles on his cheeks, to feel the coarser dark hair on his pale thighs -- forever. As close as two people can possibly be. 

“Love you,” he says. 

“You too,” Junhong says, but the words are choked off and broken and Youngjae feels a sudden thrill of pleasure as he pushes in deeper. 

*****

"I like it," Youngjae says. "It makes you look mature."

Junhong runs a hand self consciously over his head. His hair is black and neat, styled like he’s some kind of junior banker or something. "Yeah? It feels kind of strange." He grins.

Youngjae grins back. After a while, it had become an in joke, Junhong and his magical Technicolor hair. The whole time they were a group Youngjae's not sure Junhong's hair was black for more than a week or two consecutively. The styles didn't get tamer after he went solo.

"It's good," Youngjae say, squeezing his arm.

Junhong nods. "Thanks, hyung."

"Everything's still ready for tomorrow, then?"

Junhong nods. A furious series of meeting and wardrobe consultations and hair appointments have born fruit; he's going to record for Healing Camp tomorrow. Youngjae's already seen advertisements for it on television, billing it as 'Superstar Zelo's Revealing First Interview since his Shocking Confession'.

Youngjae's waited in tasteful waiting rooms, given his opinion when asked, and kept himself busy at home. He reorganized his closet to make some room for Junhong, and he went to the store to buy a bunch of those little things that they kept needing and didn't have: tin foil, pepper, and extra light bulbs. 

It's not like he plans on spending the rest of his life keeping house for Junhong, but there's so much going on right now that it feels selfish to be worrying about his own future.

He'll figure it out, in turn. There's no rush. There are no expectations for him any more.

Junhong's hung up his coat. "Yeah," he says again. "Everything's ready."

Youngjae nods. "I thought we could order from the –"

"Hyung," Junhong says, frowning.

"What?" Youngjae tries to ignore the panic he feels. Maybe he told the company. Maybe the company told him that just coming out was enough. A boyfriend – and a especially boyfriend who was a former member of Junhong's group – is out of the question. Maybe –

"Will you come with me tomorrow?" Junhong has always had a particular way of making his eyes soft and needy. Youngjae is no match.

"Yes, Junhong," he says, "Of course I'll come."

*****

"Excuse me," someone says, and Youngjae steps further back, into a corner between the craft table and the edge of the porch.

To show Junhong in a contrite and humble attitude, they're filming outside. Youngjae isn't sure who the house belongs to, or why this nicely landscaped yard is contrite and humble. A black SUV met them at the subway station (Junhong was reluctant to give up Youngjae's address, even though the company already knows it) and they were whisked away through the suburbs to an estate. Youngjae thinks he might have seen a drama that was filmed here, or maybe there's just something generic about all impressively green and even stretches of lawn.

It's takes a long time for the filming to start. Junhong bows low to the hosts and then he is rushed away to have his makeup done somewhere inside the house. Youngjae, who knows nobody and has nothing to do, feels acutely out of place.

"Excuse me," someone says again, and Youngjae steps back further, until he's standing in the flowerbed, ankles deep in freshly planted impatiens.

"Sorry," he says.

"Ah, it's okay," says the woman – an intern or grip, in jeans and a baseball cap. She's young, he realizes, when she looks up at him. "Oh." Her eyes go wide. "Youngjae oppa."

He doesn't say anything, like maybe if he stays quiet he can just pretend he's some other Youngjae.

But she keeps staring, big eyes and red cheeks, and then she says, "I was such a big fan of yours."

"Thanks," Youngjae says, and he smiles. All of this is total autopilot, even after so long.

"You came here with Zelo oppa? To support him? Wow." Her eyes are shining. "You guys really are good friends, aren't you?"

Youngjae nods, slowly. "Of course," he says. "We're all good friends ..." He can't totally ignore the little pang of guilt he feels at that lie.

"That's so great," she says. "When you went into the army they said ..." She stops herself, looking startled.

"Hey," he says, smiling. This is his fan. He never wanted to be anything but good to the fans. "It's okay. You can tell me. You're not going to hurt my feelings."

She grins at him; one tooth is crooked. It's kind of charming. "Thanks," she says, shy. "It's just .. when the other oppas enlisted, you weren't there and some people said ..." She shakes her head. "Anyway, I knew it wasn't true. Look! You came here with Zelo oppa today."

"Yeah," Youngjae says. "I ..." He smiles again. "Even if he's a big star now, he's still our maknae, isn't he?"

She nods, vigorous, gathering momentum. "But, Youngjae oppa, you're out of the army now. Are you ... Do you think you'll come back?"

"I’m not sure," he says, gently. "It's only been a little while."

Her face falls. "Oh. Right. I just thought ...we've been waiting so long."

The thought of anyone waiting for him is nice. "I think I might," he says, and then quickly adds, "I mean, there are no plans yet. But I've been thinking about it."

"Ah, really?" She beams. "Oppa, I'll be waiting for when you do. I'm so –"

"Haerin, what are you doing? Get over here!"

"Oppa, don't worry. I'm going to wait for you." She grins at him one last time before running over in the direction of the shout.

He closes his eyes. The sun is out and he feels so warm inside. It's not the same thing he feels with Junhong. That's different – something small and large at once, their hands clasped together and the beating of their hearts. The idea that people he doesn’t even know care about him so much, so selflessly, is strange and awe-inspiring. It always has been.

If he did anything – and there's no guarantee that anyone will want him to – he'd do it for them. For her.

There's a sudden bustle of noise and a crowd coming down the steps into the yard – scurrying assistants with their tablets in hand, the director and script writers trailing behind, the hosts, and then a moment later Junhong, ducking to miss the low overhang as he steps out into the light.

He's so beautiful he takes Youngjae's breath away. It’s a cliche expression, but that's what it feels like. He could stop breathing and just stare at Junhong and that would be enough to keep him going. His strong jaw, the sunlight on his cheekbones. His slightly snub nose. The sleek gleaming wing of his hair, gelled and combed back off his face. He looks calm and happy. Prepared.

"Junhong," Youngjae yells. It's loud, and people turn and look, but he doesn't care, because Junhong turns and looks too.

"Good luck!"

Junhong grins at him and waves, but then someone one (anonymous, earpiece and clipboard) taps him on the shoulder and leads him away.

Youngjae watches him go, proud and nervous. 

*****

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Junhong says. His eyes are closed. His head is on the pillow and his knees are tucked under him. 

Youngjae rests a hand on his back. “It will be fine,” he says. “Junhong, you wanted to come out. You wanted to be honest. Everything is going to be fine.” 

Junhong makes an unhappy noise. “I did,” he says. “But maybe I should have waited until after the army. I could just … stop then. Have a normal life.” 

“You’re never going to have a normal life,” Youngjae says. It sounds cruel, but it’s true. “You’re _Zelo_. You’re a star. That’s never going to change.” 

Junhong nods. “They kept wanting me to explain _why_.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to say. There’s no _why_.” 

“There’s nothing to explain,” Youngjae says. “You just wanted to be honest. To your fans. To yourself.” 

Junhong nods again. “I did it for them,” he says. “They supported me so long. They deserved to know the truth.” 

“You did it for yourself,” Youngjae says, vehement. “I know you. You did it for yourself, Junhong.” 

Junhong shrugs again. “Yeah,” he says, unconvinced. “I guess.” He shrugs. “I guess maybe there’s not that much difference. I did it. That’s what counts, in the end.” 

“It does,” Youngjae says. “It was the right thing to do.” 

Junhong nods, but his face is crumpled and miserable. Youngjae pulls him close in to his chest and strokes his hair and holds him, for as long as he needs. 

*****

Yongguk’s house is unassuming, even somber, with its faded wood siding and blank modern facade. It’s set on a large wooded lot, well back from the road. The sunshine from the weekend is gone. The sky is grey and the wind is cold. Youngjae sticks his hands in his pockets while he waits, but before the door opens Youngjae hears laughter.

Yongguk looks the same. His hair is messy, and Youngjae doesn't remember the lines at the corners of his eyes, but he is the same.

"Youngjae," he says, grinning that same stupid grin. "Hi."

The house is big and spare, decorated in an elegant mixture of modern and traditional decor that Youngjae assumes must be to Yongguk's wife's taste. He's never met her and she's away on business now. Himchan told Youngjae all about her once, a long time ago, and showed him pictures from the (admittedly hasty) wedding. Youngjae can't even remember what she looks like though, just a few broad details: French, PhD candidate in some dry subject, plays piano and violin, very pretty. Yongguk adores her.

It feels a bit strange that Youngjae's never met the person at the center of Yongguk's life. There was a time when they were all the center of each other's lives.

"Hi hyung," Youngjae says. He feels strange and awkward. Youngjae likes to talk, but Yongguk's always had a way of making him feel self-conscious about his mindless chatter.

"You look well," Yongguk says, smiling. "Do you feel like a real man now?"

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "I guess," he says. "Whatever that's supposed to mean." He doesn't mean to be prickly. It's just his default posture.

Yongguk smiles, watching Youngjae for a moment. Then he says, "Come meet the girls."

They are small, fine-boned like Yongguk and with his same heart-shaped face. Yoonji is four. Eunmi is three. They spare Youngjae a cool look as he walks in, but then turn quickly back to the game they're playing – something involving blocks and dolls and a toy horse.

"Girls," Yongguk says. "This is your Uncle Youngjae. Come say hello."

Yoonji looks up at him with big dark eyes. "Hello," she says, sounding older than her age. Definitely Yongguk's child.

"Did you bring us a present?" Eunmi asks.

Youngjae laughs, startled. "Not this time," he says, feeling ashamed.

"That's okay," Yoonji says. "You can bring it next time." She wraps her small hand around his index finger, and tugs him over towards the toy box. "Play princess knights with us."

"Girls," Yongguk says, "Uncle Youngjae doesn't want to ..."

"No," Youngjae says. "It's fine, hyung."

Yongguk grins.

On his hands and knees, he plays princess knights. Yoonji is the chief knight, the architect of a war on the neighboring rubber duck kingdom. Eunmi is a less than loyal second in command, undermining her sister's authority when her princess knight decides to take shelter in the ducks' stronghold.

Youngjae is told that he can be the horsies. Well, he's had less to do.

Yongguk watches them, standing in the doorway with his arms folded. After a little while he disappears into some further part of the house.

"I like you," Yoonji says when Youngjae suggests that she have a duel with the duck king. "Here. You be the duckie."

Eventually, their interest fades. Eunmi is tired of playing and knocks over the castle - "an earthquake!".

Red-faced, Yoonji says, "You're a jerk!"

Eunmi frowns, her lower lip trembling. "You're a jerk."

"Hey," Youngjae says, scooping Eunmi up into his arms and grabbing Yoonji's hand. "Don't princess knights have magic? Can't you use a magic spell to rebuild the castle?"

Reluctantly, Yoonji nods.

"Right," he says. Eunmi rests her head on his shoulder. "The princess knights are probably tired from the war. After they recharge, it'll be no problem for them to fix the castle. Let's go find your dad now."

Yoonji leads him to Yongguk's office. The baby is drowsing in his arms. The door is closed, but Yoonji pushes it open.

"When Daddy is working he puts a string on the door," she explains.

Youngjae snorts; that's what they used to do at the dorm, when they needed _alone_ time.

Yongguk turns away from his computer. "Ah," he says. "Sorry. I lost track of time."

"It's okay," Youngjae says. "We were waging a war."

"Yeah!" Yoonji says, "And Eunmi knocked over the castle like a stupid baby because she was angry that my princess was prettier."

"But," Youngjae says warningly. 

"But," Yoonji says reluctantly, "the princess knights are going to use their magic to fix it, Uncle Youngjae said."

"Did he?" Yongguk grins, delighted. "He's right. Youngjae is very smart."

It feels weird to hear Yongguk say that – like being complimented by a stranger, or by someone's Dad. It was never really true anyway. Youngjae was 'the Brain' just because the company thought it sounded good; they had no other identity to give him.

The girls want a snack. In the large kitchen, Yongguk slices apples and pears for them. The counter tops are granite and the appliances gleam in brushed chrome. Yongguk puts the fruit slices on a plate for the girls, and tells them to be neat. He wipes the counters down with a cloth, and puts the knife and the cutting board in the sink. His movements are routine, well-worn.

"Thanks for watching them," Yongguk says, wiping his hands on a towel.

"It's fine," Youngjae says. "They're really great kids, hyung."

Yongguk beams. His happiness is so palpable he's glowing.

Youngjae would have been jealous of that, once. But now, he just thinks of Junhong and feels more grateful than he can say.

"When Stephanie is away," Yongguk says, "it's hard for me to work."

"What are you working on? Your own stuff?"

Yongguk shakes his head. "Mostly producing these days. It pays better, and it's more challenging in some ways."

Youngjae knows all that. Yongguk's not on his way to becoming a mogul, but he's certainly made a name for himself as a producer of some of the most interesting hit songs in recent years. People look forward to his releases. His name lends a song credibility it might not otherwise have. 

"Ah," Youngjae says.

"Come take a look at the studio," Yongguk says. "I'll let you hear what I'm working on."

*****

Standing in the hallway, Youngjae listens to his phone ring. Once, twice, three times. Junhong is not going to pick up. He’s busy in meetings all day. Youngjae knows that. 

_Yongguk’s kids are painfully cute._

He waits a moment. 

_They’re awesome though. I wish I’d met them sooner._

_It’s good to see him again. I might be staying later than I planned._

_Hope everything is going well._

Of course he doesn’t respond. Junhong is busy. 

Youngjae is about to put his phone in his pocket when he pauses. Yongguk is waiting, but he can wait a moment longer. He dials another number. 

“Hello? Youngjae?” His mother’s voice is distorted and strange. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, Mom,” he says. “I just …” 

“You had me worried. It’s not like you to call out of the blue like this.” 

“No,” Youngjae says, miserable. “No, I’m fine. Mom, I just wanted to tell you …” 

“What, my baby? You can tell me anything.” 

His cheeks go red at the pet name, but he’s made up his mind. “Mom, I’m in love with Junhong.” 

She says nothing for a long time. The panic rises in his throat. “I didn’t mean to …” 

“No,” she says finally. “Don’t be upset. It’s okay.” 

“It is?” He closes his eyes. 

“Of course,” she says. “If he makes you happy, it’s fine, and I know that he does. Why are you telling me this now?” 

He shrugs. “I was just thinking about how much I loved you,” he says. “I’m at Yongguk hyung’s house.” 

“Ahh,” she says. If she’s feeling any turmoil, she doesn’t reveal it. “I love you too, more than anything.” 

He nods. “Sorry,” he says. “I should have told you sooner. I was scared.” 

“You told me,” his mom says. “When the time was right, you told me. That’s important, Youngjae.” She makes a soft noise. “Go be with your friend now. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he says.

“I love you more,” she says. “We’ll talk more soon.” The call ends. 

It’s funny how he doesn’t really feel any different. 

*****

The studio is small, but the equipment is top of the line. Here, Stephanie's tasteful decor gives way to something more familiar: utilitarian grey soundproofing on the walls, a bulletin board cluttered with newspaper clippings, dried flowers, and the kids’ artwork, a crumpled ramen package in the garbage pail.

"Very nice," Youngjae says. It's been a long time since he's been in a studio, longer since he's recorded anything, but it doesn't seem as a strange as he thought it would.

Yongguk nods. "Sit down." He pulls out the other chair for Youngjae. "Here. This is one I'm working on for a friend."

The song is nice. It's mid-tempo with jazzy instrumentation and a bouncy, cheerful beat. It’s not the kind of thing Yongguk would have written for the group. It’s not the kind of thing he’d write for himself. It’ll be popular though, Youngjae thinks. 

“I like it,” he says. “And your voice, hyung.” Yongguk’s vocals are a placeholder, but they’re strong. “You sound good.” 

Yongguk grins. “Ah,” he says. “I’m passable.” 

“No,” Youngjae says, “You’re good, hyung. You should sing on your next album.” 

Yongguk shrugs. “There’s no point in me singing when I have so many talented friends.” 

Youngjae bites his lips and nods. “Ah,” he says. “Yeah.” The clock ticks loudly on the wall. 

Yongguk watches him. “I was thinking,” he says, “you should feature on something for me.” 

It’s not unexpected … not entirely, anyway. Himchan might have planted the seed in Yongguk’s mind, or even Junhong. But it still feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. 

“I’m not …” He’s not upset or anything. This doesn’t really hurt any more. It’s just the memory of the old sharp pain. “Hyung, you don’t have to feel bad for me.” 

Yongguk frowns. “I don’t feel bad for you, Youngjae.” 

“Then why don’t you go ask Daehyun?” It comes out sharper than he means it to. It’s an old hurt and a petty, small awful thing to say, but it hurt then and it still hurts now.

“Daehyun’s in Busan,” Yongguk says, “and you’re here.” 

“Ah,” Youngjae says. “I’m more convenient, then?” 

“No.” Yongguk frowns. “I want you to do it. I thought you would like to,” he says slowly. 

Youngjae nods. He scoots his chair back a little. The wheel squeaks. “I know,” he says. “Hyung, I know, but I don’t want your help.” 

“Youngjae,” Yongguk’s voice is slow and steady, just like it used to be. Youngjae can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Yongguk truly mad. “I didn’t ask you to come here to make you angry.” 

“I’m not angry,” Youngjae says. “I just don’t need you to feel bad for me, hyung.” 

“It’s not pity,” Yongguk say, shaking his head. “I know it can be hard, finding your feet after you get out of the army. I know it was for me. That’s I went to Paris.” He shakes his head. “If I hadn’t met Stephanie I don’t know if I would have come back.” 

Youngjae knows the story of Yongguk’s great romance. It was widely reported in the entertainment news at the time, and Himchan filled him in on the more sordid details. “Right,” he says. “Of course. I know it’s going to take some time.” These are blank platitudes, like he might tell a stranger. “I’ll figure it out, hyung.” 

“So record a song with me,” Yongguk says, more forcefully than he would have in the old days. Maybe parenting is teaching him something. “Come back and spend an afternoon and we’ll write something. We don’t have to release it. You must still practice. You can do it, can’t you?” 

Yongguk knows them all so well. Too well, in the end. He knows exactly how to get each of them to do what they need to do. It’s some inherent part of Youngjae’s character to need to prove to people that he’s good enough. He never could resist a challenge.

Or maybe Youngjae’s done with proving himself like that. 

“Not much any more,” he says. He leans back in his chair. “I haven’t sung in years, to be honest with you.” 

Yongguk nods. He doesn’t have the most expressive face. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking. “Why did you stop?” 

This is just going to be like pulling teeth, apparently. “Because,” Youngjae says. “I didn’t really see much reason to any more.” 

Yongguk shakes his head. “But you loved it,” he says. “Youngjae, you loved music so much.” 

Youngjae shrugged. “I loved Starcraft once too, hyung. I thought I was going to make my fortune as a professional gamer. People change.” 

Yongguk nods, slowly. “Okay,” he says. “I understand.” He reaches forward to start shutting down his computer. 

Youngjae’s hands are shaking. He grips the armrests to steady them. He’s not exactly angry and not exactly sad but he’s both of those things and something else too. Yongguk is too smart to think that Youngjae really just gave up on music, just as easily as that. Yongguk knew how much they all loved it; that’s why they were chosen. Youngjae is sick of lying. Sick of acting like it wasn’t a big deal when really the hurt runs straight through him. 

“Maybe I just don’t feel like putting myself out there again,” he says. “That didn’t work out so well for me last time. I’ve already fucked up everything once.” He stands up. If he walks out on Yongguk now he can’t imagine he’ll ever come back. 

Maybe that’s fine. Maybe things really do change.

“Youngjae,” Yongguk says. “You didn’t fuck anything up.” It’s that calm sonorous voice he used to use when talking Junhong down from a panic. It’s the kind of voice you’d use to calm a startled animal or a child. 

Youngjae rolls his eyes. “Yes, I did.” He breathes in through his teeth. “I fucked up my entire career.” This is the first time he’s been honest about this with anyone. “Every single time Daehyun got more lines than me, I thought fine. I’ll wait. It’s not my turn yet. I thought someone must have had some kind of big plan for how it was all going to work out. You, the company, I don’t fucking know who. I thought someone must have known how things would work out. Eventually I’d ...” He closes his eyes. “Nobody did, though. You enlisted, and the group was over. I had my chance, and I fucked it up so badly that I never got a second shot.” 

He has no idea what Yongguk is going to say. He's not sure he wants to hear it.

"Sorry," Yongguk says, at last.

Youngjae shrugs. Apologies don't mean much. “You don’t need to be sorry," Youngjae says. Why doesn't he get it? Maybe because for Yongguk everything did work out. "I just don't want to go through all of that and finding out again that I’m not good enough."

"Youngjae," Yongguk says. "I didn't have that much say in how things got split up, but it wasn't fair. I know that. I should have done something."

Is that supposed to make him feel better? "It's _fine_ ," Youngjae says. "Hyung, what could you have done? Things don't get to work out for everyone. Maybe it just wasn't meant to happen for me."

Yongguk is silent and unhappy. "It doesn't have to be like that. You're young. You're talented. You have so much time to ..."

Youngjae shakes his head. "When we debuted, I thought 30 seemed ancient." And it is, in this industry. He remembers joking about the old timers who tried to make a go at it when they were young and the enlistment seemed impossibly distant. "If I tried to come back now, they'd all call me a has-been."

"Does that matter?" Yongguk sounds sad. Youngjae hasn’t meant to make him sad. "We used to do it because we loved it, didn't we?"

Youngjae shrugs. Yongguk is not wrong. Maybe Youngjae just isn't as strong a person as the rest of them. Maybe he's more easily hurt and less resilient.

"I used to think I took care of you all so well," Yongguk says. "I told myself that was the most important thing. No matter what happened, I was going to take care of you guys."

Youngjae nods. He knows all about selfless leader Yongguk.

"It was a lie, though," Yongguk says. "I mean, I wanted to, but there were so many times when I didn't do the right thing. I was just a kid. I was scared."

Youngjae nods. He knows that, too. “It’s fine,” he says. It’s not like they can go back and change any of that now. 

"It's not fine," Yongguk says. "It's not fine to ignore things just because you're scared, or because they're not blowing up in your face. Sometimes the things that hurt quietly hurt the worst. I didn’t know that then, but I’ve learned a lot about taking care of people.” 

Youngjae is not going to cry. He nods.

"I'm sorry," Yongguk says again.

Youngjae doesn't know why it hurts that Yongguk doesn't know how to make it better. He should have been over that years ago. "I'm not expecting you to make it better."

"I know," Yongguk says. "But I wish could." He shakes his head. "I’m being selfish again. Maybe I just want to make myself feel better." He smiles. "So help me out. Do it for me."

He's not sure he's ever been able to refuse Yongguk anything. He can’t forget all the bad things that happened. He can’t pretend they don’t matter. But maybe he can ignore his fear. He’s learned that much from Junhong. "If it matters that much,” Youngjae says. 

"It does," Yongguk says, and he smiles.

Youngjae feels rung out. He spent so long casting himself as the victim. It shouldn’t just be this -- bad luck, poor timing, miss opportunities. Random chance. There has to be something more behind it. 

But there’s not.

There's a small noise. The door swings open and Yoonji's bright eyes appear around the corner.

"Daddy, are you making songs again?"

Yongguk nods, sheepishly.

She toddles in, Eunmi trailing behind her like a shadow. Yoonji climbs right onto Yongguk's lap. "Daddy, you said we could help next time you made songs."

"I did," he says. "I'm going to make a song with Uncle Youngjae. Do you want to help me with that?"

Yoonji looks at him, her little lips pulled into a frown. "You were in daddy's band?"

Youngjae nods.

"Okay," she says, satisfied apparently. "Let's make a song."

And it’s as easy as that. 

*****

"I think it's going to be a big hit," Junhong says. "I mean, when you think of all the concepts that have been done – sexy, cute, mysterious, werewolves, space aliens – it's really surprising that nobody's struck on the adorable toddler princess concept"

Youngjae was secretly glad when Yongguk started taking pictures of him and Yoonji. He held her in his arms up to the microphone, and they sang children's songs and old hits. At some point, Eunmi had gotten a little toy tiara. At some point, the tiara had ended upon Youngjae's head.

Of course that would be the one that Yongguk sent to Junhong.

Youngjae's head is resting on Junhong's thigh. From his vantage, the picture is upside down. He's not sure that's not an improvement. "You're both traitors," he says, frowning.

Junhong pokes him in the side. "No, it's cute," he says. "I'm going to print a copy and put it on the fridge."

Youngjae narrows his eyes. "You do that and I'll make a collage of every single time they permed your hair and get it framed."

"You wouldn't," Junhong says, aghast. "Besides, the curls were adorable."

Youngjae shakes his head. "Sorry," he says. "I'm not really a fan of the Shirley Temple look."

"Are we really going to get into who had the worst hair styles?" Junhong grins. "I think you'd lose, pineapple hyung."

 _That's_ a low blow. Youngjae would be glad never to have to see pictures of that haircut again. He looked _so stupid_. "Ugh," he says. "I guess this is what I get for dating someone who remembers me at my worst."

Junhong pokes him again. "It wasn't that bad. You were cute!"

Youngjae shakes his head. "It was that bad, Junhong. I was chubby and I had hair like an anime character. It was that bad."

Junhong rubs his thumb along Youngjae's cheek. "Well," he says, " _I_ still liked you then."

That was so, so long ago. The memories of those days seem like memories that belong to someone else. "Even since then?"

"I told you," Junhong said. "Forever, almost. There wasn't some magical moment or anything. I just always liked you."

Youngjae breathes out, long and easy. "Me too," he says. "For so long. I guess we were really dumb. We could have had so much more time."

"You're making it sound like you've got one foot in the grave. You're _thirty_. We have so much time."

"Yeah," Youngjae says, "but ..."

"And," Junhong says, cutting him off, "I think it's better it happened now. Maybe it needed to take this long for me to realize that I could be honest about what I wanted."

Youngjae shakes his head. "I bet you would have gone for it."

Junhong rolls his eyes. "Well, you are pretty irresistible." One hand slips under Youngjae's sweatshirt, rests low on his stomach.

"No," Youngjae says. He's not blushing. "I didn't. I mean ... Junhong, everything you've wanted to do, you've done. If you really wanted something ... or someone ... you wouldn't be too scared to go for it." He knows that because Junhong is a better person than Youngjae. If Junhong had been the one that failed he wouldn't have – but no, that didn't happen. Never would.

Junhong shakes his head. "I didn't know how to want anything else," he says, and then he's quiet.

Youngjae's ruined the mood. Stupid of him. They don't need to worry about the future or the past. They're together, and the most important thing is right now.

"Junhong," he says, "you can print that picture out if you want. I don't care."

"Good," Junhong says. His hand is warm on Youngjae's belly. "I like it. It's cute."

"Yongguk's kids are cute," Youngjae say.

"No, you're cute," Junhong says. "Hyung, I haven't seen you look that happy in a long time."

Youngjae bites his lip. "I'm happy. Junhong, I'm happy when I'm with you."

Junhong nods. "I know you are." He closes his eyes. "I want you to be happy when you're not with me too, hyung."

Youngjae nods. He wants that too. He isn't stupid. It felt good to be in a recording booth. It felt good to sing, even just children's songs.

He missed it.

"Oh," Junhong says. "I think Seokgu hyung is going to be coming by tomorrow."

"Coming here?" Youngjae turns his neck so he can look at Junhong's face. "Why?"

Junhong shrugs. "I asked him to bring some stuff over from my apartment."

"From your apartment?" Youngjae wrinkles his nose.

Junhong's eyes go wide. "Hyung, I didn't ask ... but I can stay here, can't I?"

He looks so funny Youngjae can't help but laugh. "I don't know why you'd want to. I'm sure this place is a dump compared to what you're used to."

Junhong just makes an indistinct noise. "But you're here, hyung."

Youngjae nods. He rolls over so he can press his face into Junhong's sweater. Junhong's hand slides over his skin to rest in the small of his back.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "I am."

*****

The crowd is impressive, much bigger than they ever were even at B.A.P's height. Youngjae might be remembering wrong, but then B.A.P never came close to the level of notoriety Junhong has achieved. His name's been in the top five of the search rankings all week.

There are protesters, brandishing homemade signs with misused scripture. They're quiet and furious, packed together in a tight knot. There are other signs too – rainbow flags and banners supporting Junhong and his decision to come out. And of course there are fans – some younger, who only know Junhong as a solo artist but many who are old enough to remember when he was the fresh-faced maknae of a nobody idol group.

The fans are the loudest of the three groups, by far. 'We Love You Choi Junhong' they chant over and over, in one booming voice.

Back behind the partition, Junhong looks pale.

"Come on," Youngjae says. "Don't be scared. You're an old pro at this."

Junhong nods. "Yeah," he says. "It feels different today, though."

"It is different," Youngjae says. "But that's not a bad thing."

The song changes. One of Junhong's hits start playing. The fans in the crowd take up the fanchant.

Seokgu comes around the corner. He hasn't questioned Youngjae's silence presence these past few weeks, hanging in the corners at meetings and photoshoots. Maybe he suspected all along too. Maybe he's just a good guy.

"You ready, kiddo?"

Junhong nods. "I think so."

"You are," Youngjae says. "They've been waiting for you."

"Come on, then," Seokgu says. "Let's do this."

"Okay. Give me one second."

Seokgu glances between them. "Just one," he says, but he steps back around the corner. The crowd's murmur grows to a roar again.

Junhong takes Youngjae's hand. "Hyung," he says. His eyes are bright.

"Go. I'm going to be here when you're done."

Junhong nods. "Thanks," he says. His smile softens. “Love you.” 

Youngjae squeezes his hand once and then lets go. “I love you too.”

*****

"Okay," Yongguk says. "We're going to go again, from the beginning."

Youngjae nods. He adjusts the headphones and glances down at the sheet music. His notes overlay Yongguk's, but they've been at this song all afternoon. He's got it mostly memorized.

"Make it count this time, hyung," Junhong says, voice tinny through the intercom. "I'm hungry, and Yongguk hyung says we can order pizza when you're done."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "Didn't you just have a sandwich?"

"I'm in the middle of rehearsals," Junhong says, pouting. "You saw how late they kept me at dance practice last night.

"Okay kids," Yongguk says. His voice is low but he's smiling. "Youngjae, are you ready?" 

Youngjae nods.

The backing music starts playing. He's got a million things on his mind – whether or not the company will let Yongguk include the song on his album, whether Junhong ever will end up enlisting, the inevitable fight over what toppings to get on the pizza – but none of that matters right now. They'll figure all that out together.

He closes his eyes, counts in eight measures, and starts to sing.


End file.
